


The Legend of Hyrule

by urnotlikeme



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Action/Adventure, Class Issues, Courage, Crimes & Criminals, Dark, Drama, Fairies, Fantastic Racism, Fighting, Gay Male Character, Gerudo Culture, Goddesses, Kings & Queens, LGBTQ Themes, Legend of Zelda References, Legends, Lords, Middle Ages, Multi, Nohansen, OC Link, Original Character(s), POV Link, POV Original Character, Political Alliances, Politics, Post-Ocarina of Time, Poverty, Prequel, Princes & Princesses, Sequel, The Triforce, Wisdom, power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 81,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urnotlikeme/pseuds/urnotlikeme
Summary: What if I told you there was a realm so corrupt that its once great society was struck from the history books?One hundred years have passed since the Hero of Time triumphed over Ganondorf, the King of Thieves. But the new Hyrule, inhabited by backstabbing politicians and barbaric thugs, is threatened from both within and without. A nameless child must fight for survival in a dangerous city to fulfill a promise. A new knight is thrusted into the murky realms of politics, where he must unlearn everything he once knew about justice and morals the deeper he gets. A new princess emerges from the north with the Mark of the Goddesses to unite the the divided realm by any means necessary. A fairy enters the brewing storm and the die is cast...





	1. The Die is Cast...

_She came to the city on a journey to search for her lost and forgotten friend._

The sky was blue, the sun shined brightly, and underneath the beautiful weather was a butcher slaughtering a goat for all the world to see. Miro Miro nearly fairy fainted when she saw the goat’s life force drain from the poor animal’s now opened throat. A nauseating wave washed over any fear of entering the city and revealed a sense of living beyond the force driven by guilt. She truly felt alive for the first time.

Miro Miro’s first instinct upon watching the goat’s final, dying heartbeats was to fly away and get out of the fabled city carved into the mountain, but she couldn’t help but stare at the gore. It was hard to believe that she had never seen anything so grotesque in her hundreds of years of existence. It was common sense, no matter how shielded from the unpleasantries of the Lost Woods’ vicious ecosystem, that monsters ate and killed each other, but this…

This was something entirely different. The poor goat had no choice but to anticipate its final precious heartbeats of life. Miro Miro could almost feel the strong hands clamped on the goat’s jaw and the cold steel sliding across flesh. Witnessing death first hand introduced a plethora of turbulent emotions running through her head. Nearby the butcher was presumably the butcher's beautiful wife, a dainty woman who looked like she had no business skinning rabbits, but her bloodied hands and flawless technique said otherwise. Miro Miro wretched in disgust as the woman exposed the bloody fresh meat for her hungry customers to see.

Discomfort brewed inside her.

Her handsomely young companion, a Hylian man she met in the Lost Woods, took a deep breath of fresh air. The strong, summer sun and his gorgeous smile made his eyes almost look like they were shut. His long, greasy and grime filled hair gleamed in the sunlight, a result of many days without bathing. All along the four day journey with the merchants caravan to Hyrule Castle City, the other caravaneers kept a distance from him for his strong odor and squalid appearance. It was their loss, in Miro Miro’s opinion. Her new best friend was as friendly as the children in her home and as wise as the Great Deku Tree.

“I take it you don’t see death too often?” asked Rowark.

Rowark’s gentle voice suddenly snapped her focus away from the carnage. “Oh, no haha,” was her uneasy yet honest answer, “I guess Father has done a splendid job keeping horrifying things away from the Kokiri village. Still, I have never seen anything quite as grotesque as what I just saw.”

“Worse than the Skulltula?” Rowark’s reminder violently triggered the memory of the eight legged monster who was about to have Miro Miro for lunch.

“Well, that was just frightening!” Miro Miro countered fervently, “This is just… wrong? I don’t know…” Was it wrong to restrain an innocent life and slaughter it? According to Father’s laws back in the Kokiri Village, the killing of any animal was tantamount to murder and was punishable as so. But if that were true, then she witnessed Rowark commit mass murder.

The Lost Woods contained many dangers and even more unknown dangers. Underneath the dense, dark foliage, the territory only belonged to the strongest. Miro Miro, who had spent the better part of a century living in a village protected by the Great Deku Tree, and Rowark, who grew up in here in the city, were certainly outsiders to the Lost Woods, but that had no effect on Rowark at all.

His skills with a soldier’s spear, a scout’s knife, and a torch were proven again and again with each monster he slew. Not only did Rowark cut through babas, skulltulas, countless keese, and even a mighty wolfos, he nimbly danced around each of their attacks with ease. During the many days they spent trekking through the Lost Woods, Rowark made camp, built temporary shelters, and harvested non-toxic foods. Whatever his background was, he was no stranger to the forest.

Miro Miro could foresee their fun adventures together. She would marvel at his beautiful movements as he would slay monster after monster. Sure she couldn't pursue a meaningful relationship with him given their anatomical differences, him being Hylian and her being a tiny fairy, but that wouldn't stop her from getting enjoyment from looking at him or sneaking a peek while he bathed, if he ever did.

“Well, whatever, I still have not been able thank you properly for your rescue. If you had not shown up-”

“For the hundredth time!” Rowark stressed as politely as possible, “It’s no problem! Thank you for, you know, getting me out of the Lost Woods! I thought I was gonna be stuck there forever!” his handsome grin let out a chuckle, “Well, I need to rejoin with my company. You're more than welcome to join me, that is, if you're up for seeing more adventures.” Gut feeling told her to follow Rowark, self-named Hyrule’s most handsome monster slayer.

But guilt told her to betray her feelings instead, “Thank you for the offer, but,” she hesitated, enjoying the last few seconds of her imaginary future life with him, “I must continue my mission.” Her romanticized imagery instantly shattered and left only the sting of regret.

“That's fine,” said Rowark with disappointment, “I understand. You care much about your companion, so I could only assume that he means much to you.” His words felt as warm as his radiant smile did. With him by her side, Miro Miro felt blessed to be able to feel at ease finally. Rowark was the first person Miro Miro had encountered in ages; it broke her heart to leave his side. “I shall pray for your success. May the Goddesses guide you to your lost friend. But if you're ever bored, just look for me in the Castle Barracks.”

As Rowark was walking away, Miro Miro noticed that his rag tag armor was actually part of a uniform. This was made more clear when Rowark passed by a guard wearing a fresh set of armor. The difference between the two was that Rowark was missing his left shoulder pauldron and his right vambrace, and his chest piece was dangling on his shoulder and held together with one strap. The time spent in the Lost Woods, almost a whole season according to Rowark, had reduced the luster of his once shiny armor to dirt and rust. His tattered cape was the only thing left to show his employment to the Crown. The Lost Woods did not treat him kindly. Maybe the civilized society of Hyrule Castle City would?

When the taller, skinnier guard saw Rowark, his scraggly brown beard could not hide his unrestrained excitement in his mouth and eyes. “Rowark!?” his high pitched astonishment squeaked out, “I thought we lost you!”

A loud slap escaped from their fierce embrace, and then a laugh. They continued talking with smiles stamped on their lips, but with the deafening hubbub of the city, Miro Miro had trouble eavesdropping on their conversation. It had also reminded her to respect Rowark’s homecoming.

Industrious Hylians, traders and craftsmen, and livestock carrying all sorts of goods crossed in front of Miro Miro on the filthy and garbage-ridden streets. As she hovered in front of the gate’s entrance, next to the butcher’s shop, people crisscrossed in front of her without acknowledging her presence. Strangers of all races paid no mind to each other either as they walked through the crowded street.

Anyone who had lived in Faron Woods knew what the Deku looked like. Their flower hats, wooden flesh, bright orange eyes, and short stature were unmistakable. She never thought she would see one, let alone many, so far from the forest, but once she recalled that the Deku were famed merchants and traders, she supposed it made sense that so many would reside in a city filled with trade. None of the Deku were carrying their own merchandise, unlike the physically stronger Hylians. While the rest of the populace walked, the Deku drove horse-drawn carts to distinguish themselves from the rest of the peasants.

The Zora were the next most populous. Miro Miro stared at their sleek, muscular bodies, their moist, light blue skin, and their fins jutting from their joints. They walked uprightly and tall but stood at about the same height as the average Hylian adult. And then she noticed the reflective, black surface of their small eyes, which looked so exotic and alien to her. None of the stories about the Zora ever mentioned the unique shape of their heads: humanoid in front with a tail fin jutting out the back, nor did they ever describe the Zora wearing tunics and pants just like their Hylian neighbors did. Miro Miro could not help but marvel at their natural beauty.

Their Zola counterparts, however, were not as aesthetically pleasing. Instead of a long tail fin on their back of their head like their Zora cousins, the Zola had a round head like the Hylians did but had fins sprouting outwards from where their ears would be and on the top of their head. Thick, red lips, sharp fangs, and a flat nose were squished together on their blue, frog like faces. In contrast to the Zoras’ toned bodies, the Zolas’ bodies were just big and bulky. In the campfire stories, they were always the brutish bullies, and their intimidating appearance did justice to the story descriptors.

A gorgeous woman with olive skin and shoulder length, vivaciously blood red hair shopped through the butcher’s merchandise. Her left hand’s fingers slid through her handsome, Hylian husband’s hands while her right hand firmly gripped the tiny hand of her infant daughter, who inherited every single one of her mother’s Gerudo traits. When Miro Miro used to listen to Mido’s tales of the fearsome desert thieves, she imagined the Gerudo to be more muscular than the mother exchanging colorful jewels for a raw and plucked cucco from the butcher.

The street that extended parallel to the gate was filled with shops and stalls as far as the eye could see, extending to both mountain cliffs that made up the city’s eastern and western border. Shouts and conversations of the busy peasants overcame the busy noise of traffic. The path in front of her leading into the urban jungle had even more activity, creating an undying fear that she was going to get lost. Well, you’ve only been lost in the forest for a hundred and fourteen seasons, Miro Miro reminded herself. Getting lost would not stop her from finding her lost companion. She began to sift through the dense crowds as soon as Rowark disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the city.

* * *

The droopy, wrinkly flaps on the bald man’s chubby cheeks moved slightly when looked up abruptly from his paperwork, but he did not have to see the child crouched on his window to be aware of his presence. The early night’s breeze ominously waltzed through the window, into the cavity between the child’s bloodstained, cotton tunic and his scarred body, and blew out the only candle in the room.

The older gentleman searched in the dark for the fire starter and asked, “So, how did it go?”

Link hesitated before breaking the bad news. “He uh,” he sighed, “He escaped the city.”

“Hmph. Then let the bandits decide his fate. It saves the Crown from paying failures.” Oscar’s cutting remark bounced off Link’s heavily scarred skin. Scratching of iron upon flint spewed sparks onto the wick. Once one of the flying sparks caught onto the wick, light returned to the room, and when it did, Oscar’s weary brown eyes were deadlocked with Link’s.

After two years of working for the bounty handler, there was still no way to read the scheming thoughts festering and colluding behind the stoic, passive face he was wearing. His tailored robe was made from a modest brown fabric, a cheap color to match a low ranking administrator’s wealth. He wore no gaudy jewelry, just a slightly rusted iron chain.

Link avoided Oscar’s piercing glare by looking at anything that did not resemble a pair of eyes, which was damn near impossible given all the profile drawings on the bounties plastered all over the walls. The organized arrangement of bounties upon the wall was characteristic of any good bureaucrat, but the way Oscar organized the wanted by gang affiliation showed that he knew more than most paper pushers like him normally did.

The intense glare was too much for Link to bear, so he broke the silence, “I um, I don’t suppose you have another bounty ready for me?”

But all Link got was a delayed response. The administrator broke the staring contest and shifted through some unorganized piles of paperwork, “Unfortunately not at the moment.”

Had Link not spent the last few years studying the art of reading subtleties, he would have missed the sly smirk creeping on Oscar’s wrinkled face. But… Link wanted to say out loud in anticipation.

“But,” Oscar paused to rummage through his messy mound of papers. Turning page after page, the handler finally retrieved a small envelope and walked to the window with the candle in his other hand, “The Maestro personally requested me to find someone in the area to, discreetly, take care of an errand.”

Subterfuge: something Link was good at but avoided altogether. Being on the wrong side of the law had far more risks, but if the request came from the law itself, maybe it would not be so complicated. “The old man delivered the request?” asked Link, making sure that the covert errand was indeed an errand from the Crown.

Oscar smiled reassuringly, “From Sir Mawar himself.” Oscar’s smile may have been hard to read, but at least he was an honest administrator.

If an old, retired Royal Guard, who currently sat at the highest seat in the Goddesses’ court, personally wanted someone quietly killed, the bounty handler was the best man to approach. The sponsorship was all Link needed. “What’s the pay?” he asked.

The administrator held out the envelope, “It’s sealed. The condition is that unsealing it means you accept the task.”

Link’s heart sank. It was a job for the desperate, most likely an assassination, a bounty beneath the law. It must be. No other kind of assignment could be so important that the Judicial Maestro could not trust someone from his own department with the details. No matter who or what branch of the Crown sponsored the bounty, this job was going to have serious repercussions. No matter how trivial the target was, these kinds of jobs were always full of complications.

After feeling the painful twist in his empty belly, Link grabbed the envelope. The light from the candle outlined the Royal crest firmly stamped onto the seal. It was as good as Sir Mawar’s signature. He released the deep breath he had been holding in and then broke the seal open with his finger.

He pulled out a small parchment from the envelope.

 _Sabotage_  
_302 Nayru Lane_

“Wait, what’s the pay?” Link asked, but before his eyes could search through the four written words and the blank space for the missing answer to his question, Oscar moved the candlelight forward and held it underneath the parchment. After one lick from the flame and an ill timed breeze, the very flammable instructions burst into flames.

The fire climbed up the dry parchment much more quickly than Link anticipated, but by the time he dropped it, he realized that the fire was transforming the burning parchment into an orange colored smoke that violently flew upwards into Link’s face. Once he recognized the color and the distinct, herbal fragrance, there was no use covering his face by that point. Link’s face instead frowned into a deathly glare into the bureaucrat’s eyes as the orange wisps gently brushed against his cheeks and nostrils.

After the marking smoke had cleared, there was a long silence between Link and Oscar before Link finally punctuated his fury, “You. Bastard. Sonuva. Whore.” Normally used as punishment for bounty hunters who killed a wanted-live target or innocent people unrelated to the target, marking smoke stayed in the lungs for many years and could be easily sniffed out by any one of the dogs in the bounty collections agencies.

Oscar returned to his seat, “‘Tis but a temporary safeguard. To make sure you follow through.”

“And what happens if I don’t stay quiet?”

The threat did not waver Oscar at all, “Then I hope you can find a different career.”

“HA!” Link forced laughter at the jokingly optimistic sentiment that assumed he would survive the immediate, subsequent attempts by the Crown to permanently silence him. Moreover, Sir Mawar’s network of eyes reached every corner in every basement and even the sewers underneath. He knew everything.

Even though Oscar had no idea what the dirty deed was, the old man would know within the heartbeat when a building was put out of commission, so Link had no choice but to comply. The old man’s official title, Nayru’s Judge, meant that the sabotage was also part of a grander political scheme. Link cared not for the politics that transacted in rich people land because he just wanted to eat. It was hard enough getting food already. At the end of the day, bounty hunting was his profession. It was the only job that allowed him to work anonymously yet legally. The relationship between the bounty hunter and the Crown’s bounty handler was simple: if one worked, one got paid, and there were almost no exceptions to that rule.

Well, Link just found one. This was also the first time he had gotten trapped into committing a crime unwillingly, ironically by law enforcement itself nonetheless. Curse his gullibility! Not once had the dozens of experiences of being tricked ever crossed his mind when the current scenario required caution. Sometimes his empty stomach hurt too much for his mind to work rationally.

There was nothing more Oscar needed to say to Link: the task was given, the old man knew not what the instructions were, and he would be notified by Sir Mawar once said task was done. Only then would Link’s mark be cured.

The child growled lowly and plotted a thousand different revenges as he disappeared from the second story window and dropped down onto a ledge, climbing horizontally along the wall until his back was facing a tree. Swiftly like a monkey, he planted his feet and hopped off the wall, turned, and caught the branch, and then he climbed down and rejoined the rest of society.


	2. The Blue Jewel

Link dug into his wallet and retrieved his last rupee as he strolled through the crowded street. Nayru Lane was one of three roads that connected the city gates to the castle, so it made sense that someone would be looking to sabotage an establishment on one of the most affluent streets of Hyrule Castle Dump. As Link walked towards the city exterior, the address numbers became smaller and smaller. _The address was… 302_ , he recalled in his mind, which meant that the target was on the southwest corner of the third block away from the city walls. 

When Link finally reached his destination, the heightened security in the area was the first thing that caught his eye. Two men-at-arms, wearing a hauberk and a surcoat proudly displaying their lord’s coat of arms, were posted in front of the heavy, steel reinforced door. The Zawk Brothers blacksmith, the most famed smith in this side of the city, was indeed worth all the protection. Sandwiched between a tailor to the right and an armorer to the left, the Zawk brothers quickly devoured the surrounding competition. It took less than a season for their reputation to be planted on the lips of everyone that wielded a metal instrument. 

As Link nonchalantly waltzed through the street, he began to scope out the security. All the windows were closed shut with thick wooden panes and most likely locked tightly. Additionally to the private security, a pair of city watchmen, armed with their standard issue spears, standard brass plate mail, and the royal blue surcoat, stood at post across the street from the blacksmith, but they were too busy conversating on the other side of the street to notice anything out of the ordinary. They would be gone by the end of the night’s watch, when the shops were left to the protection of the long night patrols. 

Link whirled around and began walking the other way, this time paying attention to potential access points. The three story building looked scalable up front, but how was he supposed to scale the building without being seen? His best bet was to find an opening in the alleyway. 

When he peered around the corner, his eyes focused onto the wooden scaffold setup next to building across from the armorer. Climbing up was easy, and all that separated the top platform from the roof across was a three story fall. On top of three slanted, wooden shingled roofs were the chimneys of the residences underneath. There was no doubt in Link’s mind that the largest of the chimneys, also the one belching a peculiar black smoke from beneath, belonged to the Zawks’. 

Link closed his eyes, quickly putting together a plan. The best scenario would be to lower himself and a portable but destructive instrument with a rope down the chimney. His moist hand slipped into his wallet and focused on the cool touch of the blue jewel as he began to visualize items he could buy with his limited currency. Bomb fruits were as cheap as three green rupees apiece, but they had an unpredictable blast force and a very short fuse. And since hand made bombs with adjustable fuses were out of his price range, Link would have to create his own concoction. In fact, no explosions were really even required. Once he solidified the plan in his head, it was time for him to trade his blue rupee for everything required to execute his plan. 

He walked south onto a curved road that would lead him straight to the Central Market Square, but the sweet aroma of the nearby bakery soon infiltrated Link’s nostrils and triggered his empty stomach. Each whiff of the fresh baked bread was a harsh reminder that his last meal was two days ago. The moment Link realized that he was about to walk past The Moblin’s Tusk, a pub that offered an entire, pit-roasted cucco with a pint of hard, pumpkin cider for just five rupees tonight, he regretted his decision to walk down Baker’s Avenue. 

His extreme hunger fueled his sense of smell at the worst possible moment. Link steeled his willpower and suffered through the mixture of pleasant aromas stemming from pit-roasted meats cut from the finest Lanayru livestock, steaming meat pies, and all types of exotic seasonings layered on top of all the foods. Link clutched the blue rupee in his hand as he took step after step. 

What if he spent one, lousy rupee for a large, juicy fruit? One rupee for an apple would not hurt. Surely four green rupees could get him what he needed. The debate in his head grew more fierce as he walked past a produce vendor, where almost all of the fruits and vegetables were only one green rupee. _Just keep walking_ , Link reminded himself. 

The hunger was so painful that he began contemplating simply stealing a fruit off the stand. Or maybe he could quickly rip off a leg off a roasted cucco on display. _Stop! Don’t be foolish!_ he chided himself and shook his head, freeing himself from all the stupid suggestions popping up in his head. He could easily have stolen some food off of some stalls, but stealing in broad daylight would only attract unwanted attention from the authorities. Once the job was done, he would have plenty of time to enjoy a honey glazed Dodongo rib paired with a delicious apple scone. The imaginary taste only made his mouth water and his belly more hungry. 

The street ended at a plaza that housed the largest flea market in the city. It spanned three city blocks long and wide, surrounded by tall buildings. The square used to be known as Castle Square and was one of the largest open spaces in the city, until the homeless refugees decided to make their homes on the large public space. 

What made this square all the more distinguishable was a raised, bronze statue of the Hero of Time pointing a bronze sword, the legendary Master Sword, into the sky. His face was lifted upwards, eyes directed away from the injustice below him, and frozen in the midst of a battle cry. What was once a monument to celebrate the fabled hero that saved Hyrule from the Ganondorf’s evil had very rapidly become a vandalized ornament of the square once the refugees from all over Hyrule began to pour into the city. 

Link’s destination took him right into the heart of the market. Stalls selling everything from food to colorful stones to smuggled ingredients for magic potions were organized in very random patterns. The gaps between stalls and shops served as pathways for navigation, but they were so unorganized that one could easily get lost in the gigantic maze of filth, feces, and foul smells (thankfully the nauseating scents effectively killed Link’s monstrous hunger). Shops grew in size and moved frequently; pathways were subject to change in any given **tendo**. This was where those who could not afford to pay rent set up shop and lived. The poverty in the Castle Market Square brought significantly reduced prices as well as unchecked criminal activity. 

“Little child!” said the pressing voice of an older Gerudo, “You look like you could use a new toy! Come see what I have and share with your friends!” Link did not even stop to peruse through the toy vendor. He may have been a child physically, but none of the childish games appealed to him. 

Next to the toy vendor was an apothecary’s store. Perfect. Link cleared his throat, “Afternoon ma’am!” 

The tall woman looked taken aback from the unusual sound of Link’s voice, as have everyone else who heard Link speak. As she sat poisedly and looked downward past her long, hawkish nose, she responded with bemusement, “How can I help you?” 

Amidst the large collection of many colored dusts and powders, Link’s finger pointed straight to the glass jar with a yellowy powder, “I shall have a small bag of that stuff,” answered Link as innocently as possible. 

“Hmph,” was all the aging woman let out as she disbelievingly eyed the sincerity of the child who knew exactly what medicine he wanted, “Three rupees.” 

Link placed the blue jewel onto the counter next to the display of the apothecary’s various uniquely colored liquids and powders. Satisfied, she took the jewel and replaced it with two green jewels. When the apothecary removed the jar lid, the pungent smell of rotten eggs filled Link’s nose and confirmed the ingredient in his mind. She retrieved a small, paper envelope into which to dump the small spoonful of the yellow powder. 

Happy with his purchase, Link searched for the next vendor. He needed to find a butcher’s shop. Or a spice store. The setting sun had not yet made navigating through the narrow spaces impossible, but Link had no time to spare to wander aimlessly. In less than an hour, the poorly lit pathways would be at the mercy of the ruffians. To search for his ingredient, he followed the smell of meat amidst the heavy odor of Hylian sweat and filth. The barefooted boy could feel all the muck, dirt, and feces that had been accumulating for seasons. The Hylian filth stained on the backside of the tents soaked the air with the putrid smell of excremental wastes. 

These were mere obstacles, however, to his hunger driven sense of smell. As he zig zagged through the dynamic pathways, the delicious aroma became stronger, and his stomach squeezed tighter. Finally, he arrived at the charcuterie responsible for the smell. 

The owner of the stall was a heftier woman wearing a red, summer dress and a dirtied white apron over it. Her greasy, dark brown hair was tied up into a bun and busily bounced up and down as the woman went about her work. If her gentle yet swift salting technique was any indication of her many seasons of experience, then the wrinkles on her aged face was. 

He cleared his throat before eyeing the legs of lamb hanging overhead. “Excuse me ma’am!” Link called out to her while waving like a child, interrupting her work. The distinct smell of ground rosemary and peppercorn combined with sight of pink, lean meat required making conscious efforts to prevent his mouth water from leaking from the corner of his lip. 

The butcher immediately gasped upon seeing Link, “Oh deary.” It was usually anyone’s first reaction upon seeing his face, and but none would refuse service from a harmless child. Oh well, nothing a drunk, abusive father could not explain. She apologized, “Forgive my manners, how can I help you?” 

Link continued to use the childish act as best as his battle worn face could allow it, “I’d like to buy some salt to prepare the meats for my Mama to make!” 

She warmly smiled at the innocent request for a sale, “Why, of course! Looks like your mother is doing a good job raising a cook in the house.” The enthusiastic boy nodded up and down, exciting the butcher even more, “You know, ‘tis a fast way into a woman’s heart. You best remember that when you grow up!” The irony was too tangible to Link. 

She bent over behind the counter, pulled up three hide bags filled with powders, and set them onto the countertop. She pointed to the left bag and lectured, “This here is good ole table salt. It’s the most common type of salt us butchers use. I’m sure your Ma wanted more than just regular ole’ salt.” 

Not that one. “What about this one?” Link pointed to the bag in the middle containing the reddish orange powder. 

“Ah, that’s fire salt!” she exclaimed, “It’s a special blend that comes from the Gerudo desert. I like to use this to make my meat taste spicy.” The name of the mysterious powder almost tempted Link to purchase it, but he thought better. It was probably nothing more than table salt mixed in with some Gerudo spices. The butcher continued her lecture, “Beside the normal table salt, certain tribes of the desert have added their own…” not only was her voice difficult to pay attention to, Link was too focused on how the raw chops hanging behind her must taste like. Gone were the woman’s informative words, replaced by an imaginary pit roasting a leg of venison with thickened honey wine drizzling over the succulent... 

“Did you want to try some of it?” asked the butcher, which brought Link’s attention back. 

“Yeeess,” he hungrily replied, still thinking about the taste of the meat, and then he corrected himself once he realized she was talking about the salt, “Oh, I mean no.” There was only one more before Link would leave to find a different butcher vendor. “How about this one?” said Link as his finger pointed to the bag on the right. 

“Oh, this salt is special!” said the Butcher with a more hushed tone, “It makes the meat look more pink when cooked. It’s more expensive because people harvest this salt from Keese.” 

Otherwise commonly known as poop salt to the other Links, this salt made his eyes narrow with interest. Staying in character, Link conjured his best manners and innocently asked, “May I have a small bag of that to take home to my Papa and Mama?” 

“Why certainly you may!” responded the butcher without hesitation to Link’s pleasure. He had no qualms with manipulating her generous nature; there was a blacksmith that needed destroying. The woman generously poured some of the white powder into a small, paper box. When she made eye contact with Link again, the boy summoned his cute pinching gesture, asking for a little more. The woman nodded and added another scoopful. “Here you go my deary! Here’s a small sample to take home for your Ma, no charge. And if your Ma likes what she sees, let her know where you got it from!” 

Link grabbed the box and thanked her melodramatically, “Thank you thank you thank you!” before running off to the next vendor. 

The last few things Link needed could all be bought at a familiar blacksmith. The only one in all of Market Square sat on the western path connecting the central statue to the plaza outskirts. It was a matter of finding the bronze statue, and then walking along the path towards the great castle off in the distance. Once he reached the statue, he could see the big, beige tent sitting on the right side of the path. 

The tall and muscular man, hammering at a steel bar behind the counter, had a long bushy beard and greasy, sweaty black hair that ran down the his back. Great muscles guided the Goron-like figure with every hammer stroke. Even though the night was drawing near, he doggedly continued his work. 

Despite the fact that Papa Wapapa’s back was facing towards the counter, he sensed Link’s presence before the boy was even three steps there. “Piss off,” said the blacksmith as hammer struck metal. Link’s favorite blacksmith also happened to be the rudest person in all of Hyrule. 

Link shouted back, “What? I haven’t even said anything yet!” 

The big blacksmith turned around quickly and loudly slammed his hand onto the counter, aggressively and ferociously stabbing his hammer at Link, “You still owe my twenty rupees for the last three repairs! And don’t think I don’t know who you are! You may be a Link, but anyone can recognize those ugly marks on your face.” 

A Link. A nameless child. A bastard born. A street orphan. Every unwanted on every corner of every block. A name Link picked because he did not know what else to call himself. Link had no history. He did not know his parents, and he did not have any siblings growing up. What little history he could remember had faded from his memory over the years. Other Links he knew from years back had grown into adults, learned trades, adopted new names, started families, and lived comfortable lives. It was the dream of every Link to no longer be named so. 

“Fine. You got me,” Link conceded as he threw up his arms to the burly, intimidating blacksmith, “I do owe you a sum. But!” shifting his tone to pitch a sale, “I just need some of your finest flint and steel for a new job, and then I shall have your money before the first rays of the morning sun strike your tent!” 

“HA! Do I look like the kind of guy that lives on promises?” Wapapa’s enraged retort even made Link take a step back, “I can’t live on promises! And my family can’t live on promises!” 

Link raised his arms to calm down Wapapa’s animal-like temper. “Okay then,” he said calmly to a man breathing like he was ready to jump over the counter and strangle the boy, “I can purchase flint from you. One green rupee for your lousiest flint rock. Another rupee for steel.” He slowly retrieved the two green jewels and placed them on the counter. 

With a family to feed, Papa Wapapa eyed the rupees sternly yet hungrily. Those rupees were enough to buy a loaf of bread or a basketful of eggs for his family. What was stopping him was his pride. He did not want to accept any of Link’s offerings on principle, but those rupees did look tantalizing, and the piss poor condition of Papa Wapapa’s tent was a clear sign of his financial trouble.

Several long heartbeats passed before Wapapa’s large, hairy hand swiped the two green jewels and replaced them with a small flint stone.

“And the steel?” the boy asked. 

“I would never sell either for less than two, so what makes you think I’d sell you both for less?” Wapapa seethed. 

“Fine, fine!” was the boy’s quick response. Link emptied the box of salt and the envelope of egg yolk dust into his now empty leather wallet before retrieving his newly purchased items with a cheery bright smile on his face. But he rudely dashed off towards the western cliff without saying another word.

The boy turned north when he reached the end of the square and began walking back towards the sabotage target. As he walked, thoughts poured through his mind. All because he asked himself, _Where am I supposed to get rope without any money?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calendar system is different. There are 364 days in the year and 90 days in each season. A "tendo" is ten day long week, and a fortnight is two tendos. There are 9 tendos in a season, and one day to celebrate the seasonal transition. It is also not my tribute to Nintendo.


	3. The Stone Forest

An entire day of searching yielded nothing. Zipping through alleys and people only made her head spin. She had a hard time being able to tell this shop from that shop and this street from that street. Instead of searching for her lost companion, Miro Miro spent most of the day getting lost and trying to find her way back to the gate, which she never found. Even though the city was squished between two cliffs, the tall houses, each shaped and colored differently, the clotheslines, hanging a colorful foliage of moist garments, and the overwhelmingly diversity in the culture of each store made Hyrule Castle City feel bigger than the Lost Woods. 

By then, the darkened streets were no longer as crowded, and the shops were beginning to close down. Torch bearers walked into the darkness with their only source of light, and lit each night torch along the way. As people withdrew from the public back into their private homes, the darkness continued consuming the daylight until night flooded the atmosphere completely, held off only by the night lanterns burning brightly. There was no way to continue searching for her lost companion, if he was even here at all. 

The worst part about it all was that it had been so long since she saw her lost companion that she could barely remember what he even looked like. Miro Miro sulked in defeat and began aimlessly floating down one one of the many similar looking streets. Where was she supposed to go next? 

Rowark! She suddenly remembered that there was still someone that she knew in Castle City residing in the castle barracks! Except, she had no idea where that was … 

He said it was the _castle_ barracks. Her eyes turned upward towards the fading daylight and saw the great cliff that supported the great castle capped on the top. From out in the distance, she could see the small, faint fires dotted on the cliff, showing signs of life from within. She remembered Mido’s stories about the castle, for only he had traveled outside of the Kokiri Forest. A stone house bigger than the Great Deku Tree looked almost like a glowing mountain peak at night. That must have been the Hyrule Castle. So long as the castle’s walls hoisted the torches high into the sky, there was no mistaking about where to go, even if she did not know the city layout. 

She began her journey towards the gigantic cliff, what she guessed was the castle, jutting out into the sunset. She hovered over the stone paved road and concentrated hard on navigating through the street. At least she had a general idea of where to go. 

 _“Help us!”_ came the cry of an unseen, internal voice. It was the faint voice of a fellow fairy! But where was it coming from? 

 _“Help us, fairy!”_ _“Help!” “Oh please save us!”_ the pleas for help bombarded her head. She looked around the townhouses and shops for the source and found a door slightly cracked open. Was it coming from there? 

 _“Your presence is nearing us! Come quick!”_ Encouraged, Miro Miro entered through the door into the general store. 

She looked around the dimly lit store. Three levels of shelves ran along the far side wall and along both connecting sides, separated by a doorway by the far right corner. Differently sized jars filled with colorful liquids and preserved monster anatomy were lined up on the bottom shelf, smaller tools like hammers and other building materials sat on the second shelf, and the top shelf was reserved for the larger tools, decor, and some weapons and shields. Had Miro Miro not felt obligated to help her fellow fairy first, she would have loved to spend time studying each product.

 Sadly, the fairies were not on the shelves, nor were they on the shelf underneath the long, maple wood counter.

" _Hurry! We are in the back!”_ the fairy voice rang in Miro Miro’s head again. She darted for the doorway but stopped short of the threshold, too scared to continue into the darkness. When she first peered in, she could only see the glow of candlelight reflecting off the wall on the other side of a stockpile of wooden crates. But as she crept towards the darkness, she found out that there was a second source of light coming from the far corner of the room. And when she finally flew across the threshold, she instantly recognized the signature bright, colorful light, which every fairy naturally radiated, reflecting off a shelf of the crates.

She recklessly darted towards the light and, upon seeing her fellow fairies floating inside glass jars, exclaimed loudly, “Brothers and sisters!”

Eight different colored energetic balls of light illuminated the room collectively. Suspended in the air with the calm flap of the wing, a grape purple, forest green, deep blue, pink red, leather brown, sunset orange, golden yellow, and a magenta fairy excitedly bounced up and down.

 _“You fool! Use thought speech!”_ one of the fairies, whose identity was unknown, communicated with her thoughts. Thought speech? Why wouldn’t they just talk normally?

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

 _“Shh!”_ the interrupting fairy silenced her, _“He’ll hear you! Quick, hide!”_

_“It’s too late…”_

Too late? Too late for what?

Miro Miro’s blood froze when she heard the bloodcurdling greeting from an unknown presence behind her, “‘Ello there...”

She slowly turned around and looked up at the silhouette of a frail, balding man, presumably the shopkeeper. There was something about the way his hands slowly reached for a bottle and a cap and his smile looked like he was hiding bad intentions behind his rotting teeth.

Her boiling blood pushed Miro Miro closer to her crucial decision between fight or flight, the point of no return. His ugly, wrinkly face would not prevent Miro Miro from saving her kin. She puffed herself high into the air and threatened with her ultimatum, “I will not leave until you release those fairies you big jerk!”

“HA!” the shopkeeper scoffed at her. Suddenly, his arm swung in the air, and his hand was closing in fast.

The fairy may have been small, but that also meant that she was too quick for him. Once she dodged clear of the bottle’s trajectory, her instinct told her to charge straight into her enemy, to fight. Her super sonic wings beat against the air as hard as they could to shoot Miro Miro through the air like a dart. She focused every fiber of conscience into flapping her wings as hard as possible, feeling the air resist her speed, and aiming straight for the shopkeeper’s chest.

The painful blunt force impact came so suddenly. With no audible sound to warn her, the stopping force hurt much more than she anticipated. “Ugh,” she groaned and reeled, wondering what kind of solids existed in her magical body that could cause her to feel so much pain. She felt her tummy turn again. This must have been the so called “nausea” that all the children once complained about. As she started backing away, she could feel the shopkeeper’s evil, unamused eyes mocking her. There was not a scratch on him, not even a rip in his bright orange tunic.

“Oh, don’tchu worry,” the shopkeeper grunted as he swung his bottle at her again, this time the lip scraped one of her wings. Harmless, but it was a waking call. “I ain’t gonna ’urt ya,” he said as he started inching towards her.

_“Run!”_

With no way to hurt or stop the much larger Hylian. Miro Miro heeded the good advice and quickly pivoted around. The wind from the old man’s third missed swing with the bottle sent Miro Miro off to the races for her freedom. After turning around the stack of crates, she dove straight for the doorway, into the welcoming embrace of the light. But the sound of the shopkeeper’s rapid, light footsteps reminded Miro Miro that the spry old man was not far behind. If she could make it out the shop, she would be finally be safe.

The rush of the cool night air felt refreshing. Nevertheless, he persisted, shattering the illusion of safety.  After one last exertion from her wings to attain altitude, the fatigue built up from a day’s worth of flying suddenly dragged her down like a pebble. All that kept Miro Miro from flying into the shopkeeper’s reach was her sheer will to survive. And this man was chasing her with a bottle because … _Why?_ she asked herself. But this was not time to leisurely ponder the answer.

Panic guided her every move through the city. She dared not enter the pitch dark alleyways; her light would give off her position for all the bad guys to see. Instead, she sharply turned right onto another lit road. But she was alone on this street and still vulnerable. No time to worry about that! The sharp turn may have tripped up the shopkeeper a bit, but that only bought Miro Miro a few strides of distance. His persistence and energy seemed never ending.

No matter what turn she made, left or right, the shopkeeper was always on her tail. The nonstop sound of his feet chasing after her added even more anxiety to her panicked mind. Up ahead was an overpass, and this time, she felt confident enough to lifted herself up one more time to reach the top. Miro Miro took a deep breath as she bided her energy and forcefully exhaled upon unleashing every known reservoir of power to launch herself as high as she could.

She made it! Taking a moment to catch her breath, her long awaited rest was cut short when Miro Miro saw the shopkeeper running up a flight of stairs that along the overpass bridge. “Waah!” she yelled in frustration before she continued her flight.

A city watchman, wearing the undamaged blue cape and shiny golden armor that Rowark wore, was standing post up ahead, so Miro Miro flew straight toward him for safety. “Hey! Heeeelp!” she cried out to him, but he remained ignorant to her plea. Rowark was a city watchman too, so why wouldn’t this city watchman help her too? Maybe he did not hear her?

She was going to try again when she got closer. But when she approached the watchman, hoping he could help her stop her pursuer, the shopkeeper’s voice reached the guard from a considerable distance before Miro Miro’s could, “Oy, I'll give you a silver rupee to get that fairy!” The guard suddenly looked at Miro Miro with widened eyes, and then there were two men chasing after her.

What a horrid day! She should have never left Rowark’s side! Staying out of reach was easy, she just needed to maintain a certain altitude. Her wings felt heavier with each flap against the wind, and it would not be long before she could no longer maintain a safe altitude. She needed to lose them fast.

The two men ran through the open streets with relative ease, so she made a sharp right and flew through a second story window, into a home where they could not follow her.

“ARF ARF! RRRRrrrrrr!” Bad idea! Her intrusion awoke the house dog, a big and hairy monstrosity who nearly engulfed her whole, and then it was the dog chasing her down the hallway. Miro Miro was too focused on staying away from the protective animal to look for a way out.

Each window she frantically neared was sealed against the sill. As she flew around the living room, frightening a family of four, the dog roared as it continued chasing her. A cool summer breeze suddenly blew through, strong enough to shift her off her intended path. It had to come from outside! She flew against the current, found the opening in the window, and passed through the window, back outside.

A sigh of relief escaped from Miro Miro’s fairy lungs as she escaped from the house.

“There she is!” she heard the shopkeeper say in between heavy breaths.

 _GAH! Why won’t you give up?_ she cursed at him.

The soldier reached into his waist pouch, “All right, I'm tired of all this running,” and withdrew a large nut in his hand.

As large as an apple, shaped like a walnut with a smooth surface, _Is that… a Deku nut!?_ Panic instantly flooded into Miro Miro’s body, and she desperately searched for anything to protect herself from the commonly used hunting tool. There was a second story balcony to her immediate right. Instantly flying upward over the balcony’s wooden rail, she had to make it there before the nut would inevitably...

 _FLASH!_ The sudden blinding light stiffened her wings and her whole body. Her paralyzed body was at mercy to her momentum and flight trajectory. The momentum lifted her up for a short heartbeat before gravity began pulling her downward. It was looking like she would run into the wooden rail. She closed her eyes, too scared to see what fate her trajectory would choose for her.

 _Great Deku Father_ , Miro Miro prayed as she fell, _if you carry me to safety, I pledge the rest of the rest of my life to search for your missing child. Please Father, carry me to safety..._

She felt impact and a small roll forward. Her body had come to a stop on, something. Was she safe? So far, her luck had proven rotten, so she was not willing to rest until she was absolutely positive her pursuer had given up.

“Damn it! You good for nothing... Gah!” the old man’s angry, high pitched squeal echoed off the walls. It had even sounded like the voice was coming from below her, “You let her get away!”

“Whatever, dunghole. I'm exhausted, and I have left my post for too long,” Miro Miro assumed that was the watchman’s voice in between heavy breaths, “You’re on your own.”

When she released her breath, opened her eyes and saw the wooden floor around her, tears escaped her eyes. She was safe. She was finally safe enough to let loose all of her chaotic emotions that had been trapped inside her psyche.

“THANK YOU!” Miro Miro yelled into the night sky, sending her blessings over the long distance, “THANK YOU!”

The new environment looked like it was full of nightmares, and not even twenty four hours later, Miro Miro felt like she had all she needed to see. But if the city had so many bad people living within the walls...

How could Rowark survive in a world like this? How could her Kokiri companion survive in a world like this? There was always a chance that her companion could be sleeping in an alleyway not too far away. If he was here, then he would need her more than ever.

But first, she had to reacquaintance with herself. Her wings were slowly beginning to respond to her commands. A fluttered attempt to levitate felt discouraging at first, but after two attempts of hopping and maintaining flight, the third attempt did the trick. Miro Miro peered over the rooftop to check on the status of her pursuers. The watchman was walking away, and the shopkeeper was shaking his fist at her, “You're mine! You just don't know it yet!” He made his way back to his shop. She sneered at him before retreating back to the safety of the stranger’s balcony.

Even though she had miraculously survived, she had never felt so defeated. Lying on the wooden floor of an unknown balcony of an unknown building in unknown territory, the forest fairy had no idea where she was and no idea where her beloved forest home was, so she began to sob loudly as she painfully gripped her confused, chaotic emotions and tried to reign them under control.

 _Get it together Miro Miro!_ she chided herself in between tears, _I have a mission to accomplish!_

But how was she supposed to find one person in this great city? The daunting task of finding someone who might not even be here coupled with memorizing the criss crossing streets felt like searching for one particular leaf in the Lost Woods.

On top of feeling hopelessly lost, she also felt powerless. There was nothing she could have done to free those trapped fairies nor combat their captor. If Miro Miro was going to have even a snowball’s chance in Death Mountain Hearth, then she needed help.

At least Miro Miro knew where to find help: the castle. She knew Rowark would be generous enough to assist in her search and would keep her safe. Maybe she could even ask him to free those fairies! Rejuvenated with the hope of seeing her friend again, she took off with her fully functional wings for the tall structure reaching into the dark, night sky.


	4. No Good Deed

By the time the sun began to set behind the castle, the streets were beginning to clear. As the good peasants of Hyrule Castle City retreated into their homes, bolted their barred windows shut, and, for the especially cautious, set their booby traps, Link walked closely along the buildings, near the torchlights and homebound people. Many years of traversing these darkened roads have enforced hard lessons about safety. Everyone knew: it was no one's land where the light was absent. Only a pair of city watchmen patrolling the grounds broke the stillness of the dark. Like a torch in an old, infested hut, their light scattered the vagrants like vermin into the sheltering, dark corners.

All Link wanted was a coil of unattended rope that could extend about four stories long, five just to be safe. Perhaps there was discarded rope in the back alleys? No. No amount of valuable treasure was worth braving the back alleys, dangerous enough during the day, especially unarmed. Of course, he could burgle a home and take a coil from a tool closet. And he would only take the coil of rope, no one would even miss it, and maybe an heirloom or two.

When Link reached the intersection of Tully and Revenant, he was suddenly brought to a decision-making moment. Left, right, forward? There was nothing interesting to the left or down the street, but there was a light coming forth from a residence on Link's right. And why wouldn't he want to check out the place that was open after hours?

Letters the size of an arm spelled out the name of store over the well lit, inviting entrance. Link peered in, expecting someone in the room. No way, his prayer was answered. Some stupid store owner was stupid enough to leave his door wide open for all the thieves to invite. All the candles inside the shop were still illuminating the narrow room with vigor.

There it was, a coil of rope sitting on the second shelf. Link grabbed the coil without hesitation and slipped his arm through the coil, comfortably suspended on his shoulder. That's all he was going to take…

But, as long as the shop owner was missing, Link figured he had time to at least search for a lucrative treasure, which ended up taking only five short heartbeats. The thief almost face palmed at how easily he found the small, locked chest tucked underneath the counter. It was almost a crime not to steal its contents. Even though he did not have the key or any means to pick the lock, he could at least open the chest in relative safety. He firmly grabbed the bottom of the wooden box with both his hands and yanked, only to find that the chest was nailed into the bottom. His plan to unlock it later mocked him the longer Link studied the lock.

A noise stirred him. It was the heavy creak of a door being comfortably open by someone assuming the room was empty. Link froze in place, looking for a way out. After a couple of footsteps, the door suddenly closed followed by the sound of metal bolts being locked into place. Link had overstayed his welcome it seemed like.

He needed a plan. Nearby the register, there was an open doorway into another room, probably storage, a good place to hide and wait for a better opportunity to escape.

He peeked around the corner and saw a balding man with limbs the width of a tree branch. Small eyes and an ugly wart on his cheek made this man's resting face look very unpleasant. Suddenly, he noticed the missing coil of rope. Alerted, he growled, removed one of the torches resting on the wall, and removed a sword hanging on the top shelf next to the shield and helmet. _Dung!_ Now the armed owner was searching for an intruder. So much for simply walking out the door.

Link retreated behind the counter and began listening for the footsteps. His sensitive ears could source the location of each step, and any sequence of footsteps narrated the direction of the man.

He's walking towards the register. It's the first thing he's going to check. Unless Link gave him something else to check first. He quickly removed the rope from his shoulder, tossed it down the aisle, and then took refuge in the shadows underneath the counter.

"Hmm?" Footsteps rounded the counter. Link was close enough to smell the shop owner's feet. "Huh. 'Ow'd you end up 'ere?" squeaked the voice of the old man. That's right, the old man was just mistaken. There was no intruder; the old man had simply misplaced the rope. The relaxed gait in the man's step contagiously spread relief into Link's body.

While the shopkeeper's back was turned away was Link's chance to quietly touch ground again and gracefully roll through the doorway into the storage room. He froze in the dark shadows and listened to the footsteps. The shopkeeper shuffled past the door to the storage room and was putting the rope away.

Link was not leaving without that rope. Maybe he could find the key to the chest as well?

Ideally, he wanted to get the rope without getting seen. His long sleeved tunic, although stained with sweat and too warm to wear in the sweltering summer weather, covered up most of his scars, but there was nothing to shield his face, mangled through years of urban survival, from recognition.

Surrounded by boxes and crates stacked all the way up to the ceiling and occupying about half of the room's space in total, all Link had to do was find any one of the dozens of scattered niches and crevices between the crates and wait patiently for the perfect time to slip by and grab the rope unnoticed, or strike. Although the plan set in his mind seemed cunning and safe and was truly the best option available, a small light protruding from the opposite corner held Link's attention. He should have just waited, but instead he walked down the cleared pathway towards the brilliant light radiating against the swarming darkness.

When he reached the bend in the path, little balls of light froze in the air when they became aware of his presence. Eight jars separated eight differently colored fairies, unfortunate assets trapped in the black market trade.

" _You_!" the volume of the high register scream in Link's head almost felt like a sudden pressure from within. But he knew that the voice did not come from his own thoughts.

As his eyes adjusted to their bright energies, Link crouched down next to the light source, which felt like pressing his head into a headache, and whispered, "What about me?" unsure which one of the blinding idiots was speaking to him.

" _You sold me_!" the same voice screamed in his head. Did he? It sounded like something Link would do.

Link shrugged, "Yeah, so? It was probably worth the good meal." And what a good meal that must have been. Any fairy was guaranteed to sell for at least a silver rupee at the local bazaar, where an end user would purchase one for a hundredfold of what Link made. With that kind of money on the line, anyone could have sold this fairy, "Do I even know you?"

" _HA_!" boomed her response, intensifying her light energy, " _You think I could forget that crooked scar from your right lip? That scar on the side of your face_?"

"Lots of Links have scars," Link mocked. This was the second time today that someone recognized him by his scars, which was concerning.

" _I promised I would NEVER forget the scar on your right lip when you sold me five years ago_!" the fairy fired back.

"Sheesh whatever!" Link diverted his fed up frustration into a raspy soundless scowl, "Which one are you?" he asked.

" _The Blue one_ ," said the one adjacent to the magenta, green, and orange fairy.

"Okay then, blue."

"My name is _Smoxy_."

"Sheesh! Smoxy, do you want to be free?"

Silence. Aware that the shop owner could enter into the storage room at any heartbeat, Link looked back nervously and waited for a response to what must have sounded like a rhetorical question. "Well?" Link spurred.

" _Hmm_ ," was her hesitant response. Every heartbeat she delayed was a heartbeat closer to the shopkeeper's entrance. " _How can I trust you_?" she finally asked.

"Because I need you to help me get out of here without killing anyone," was Link's sincere response.

" _Ha! I don't care if you kill him_!" a different fairy bellowed. A chorus of agreement rang through the group.

"I care if I kill him!" retaliated the intruder, who would be the one to face trial if he were caught for murder on top of burglary.

A richer, alto voice rang in his head, " _Shoot, if she doesn't want to be free then I'll assist you instead_!"

Suddenly, a cacophonous bombardment of voices filled his cranial space, " _Free me too_!"

" _If you free me, you free all of them_ ," Smoxy delivered her ultimatum, silencing everyone. There was no time for further argument.

"Deal," Link grabbed Smoxy's jar first, "When you're free, distract the old geezer until I can unbolt the door and get us all out of here."

One by one, Link tossed each jar into the air, producing the freeing sound of shattering glass. As soon as the piercing sound glass filled the room, he knew that the shopkeeper would come running immediately. A growl of frustration escaped from Link's mouth as the fairies circled around each other and celebrated prematurely, oblivious of the shop owner about to enter the room at any heartbeat. " _Thank you_!" they cried and sang in gleeful gratitude, once again bombarding and overfilling Link's head with uninvited happy sentiments.

Before the shopkeeper could say, "Where are you?" before his hide shoes crossed the threshold, before the light from his torch filled the room and revealed all before him, Link was already hidden in the shadows.

And when the light, the shoes, and the shopkeeper did in that order, they were met by the warcry of eight vengeful, bloodthirsty fairies, " _GET HIM_!" Smoxy led the charge. She dove first towards him and instantly circled around his torch. By the time the old man swung his weapon, the fairies had already followed her and were within striking distance, and the second swing nearly took him off his balance.

Now was his time to strike. Link climbed forth from his hiding spot and wasted not a heartbeat of his precious window of opportunity. Nimble, small, and light, the boy was able to reach the shopkeeper within the blink of an eye. He kept low and sidestepped around the store owner and pivoted around.

His left hand reached for the pouch sitting on the shopkeeper's belt, dexterously undoing the button on the leather flap. One heartbeat was all Link had to feel and rummage through the contents and find the key, and one heartbeat was all he needed to simply grab a handful of the stuff and begone, key or no key.

Link was not subtle about his pickpocketing this time, but before the shopkeeper could whirl around and stop the thief, the old man had to deal with the orange fairy stuck in his right eye. Link searched through the contents in his hand and dropped everything but the four keys, each a different size and shape. Two of the keys were too large to be anything by door keys, and the small, rusted key looked like it could fit. When the minimal torque twisted the locking mechanism open, a sinister smile crept onto Link's face.

The opened chest revealed... a stick. A bent, wooden stick with an orange varnish and a blue jewel embedded on the corner of the bend that looked more like a toy than something valuable.

The owner of the "valuable" toy cried from behind Link, "'EY YOU! Stop - Gah! Getoutta me nose!" reminding Link that he urgently needed to exit. As soon as his hand felt the smooth, cool texture of the stick's surface, the crystal began to emit a bright blue light.

No time to examine what that meant. Link tucked part of the stick in his pants, the other half resting against his back, and hopped over the counter. Before he could leave, Link had to find that rope again. The first place Link looked amongst the impressive collection was its original place, which ended the search quickly. Link grabbed coil again and then slipped his arm through the coil and rested it on his right shoulder.

Then it was time to escape. His fingers quickly undid the deadbolt and opened the door, and as soon as the door swung open, his legs sprinted down the path and did not stop running until his breathing was too heavy for his lungs to continue.

As he ran, he could hear in the distance, "Get back 'ere! I'll find you and kill you!"


	5. Finding Luck

As the fading sunlight cast a silhouette jutting out into the sky, Miro Miro looked up in awe at the mighty building sitting on top of the edge of the massive cliff. This may have been the first time Miro Miro stepped outside of the Kokiri Forest, but even she knew that this gigantic house, called a castle apparently, was the seat of power in all of Hyrule.

As she drifted closer towards the gigantic silhouette in the distance, she could start to see the shape of the castle better. How many decades have past since Mido, the leader of the Kokiri village, would describe his almost mythical trips to see the Queen. No matter how he described the castle, it was hard to believe that Hylians could build something bigger than the Great Deku Tree.

The fairy, incredibly aware of the dangers below, flew high in the air at an excessively safe altitude. The wider streets had torches fighting the darkness of the night. The only ones brave enough to walk in the uncertain comfort of the night lights were the patrolling guards. Single guards were placed along strategic vantage points, and the patrols roamed the roads in pairs.

From her vantage point, she could see a better layout of the city. To her left was the city wall, and according to Rowark, the massive man made border was as tall as the tallest tree in all Hyrule, though Miro Miro was heatedly quick to dispute that. On her way to the city, Miro Miro remembered spending a long minute or two traversing the tunnel underneath. From up above, she could see why. The rampart was wide enough to easily fit two carriages side by side, and it stretched as far as a league from end to end, jointed by two towers midway between the gate and both ends.

To her right, night torches vibrantly danced against the darkness, and their light could be seen from leagues.  _ No way, there couldn’t be THAT many people here, right? _ Miro Miro asked herself. The numerous dotted lights in the distance became more concentrated the higher the neighborhoods were located. Like a warm sheet glowing in the distance, the night lights brilliantly highlighted the many layered terraces cut into the mountain.

Down below, the sound of crickets pierced the night sky. Even though she hovered higher than any of the many tall spires poking into the darkened sky, she still followed along one of the illuminated, stone paved roads. Between the blocks of buildings and houses was a dark void, a space where no light entered or left, one that gave her chills thinking about that horrors that could be dwelling under the blanket of the night. The very idea of flying over that void of safe lighting made her tremor.

The great wall to her left eventually ended at the base of the cliff supporting the castle, and while the height of the wall certainly impressed Miro Miro, the natural, geological barrier, naturally the city’s western border, was three times as tall as the city wall. As she approached the base of the massive, wall of rock, Miro Miro could tell that the rock formations were not natural. She looked all the way up and thought to herself,  _ Oh no, do I really have to fly all the way up this cliff? _

Fortunately, Miro Miro spotted a group of city soldiers sitting in front of a bonfire. Where the wall met the cliff stood a large structure connecting the wall to the mountain and to the rest of the city below. All the windows from top to bottom were brightly lit with activity brimming from within the monumental house. Behind the bonfire, a wall of wooden stakes, cut more finely and uniformly than the crude fences made by the Deku, stood stalwartly between the soldiers and the peasants; the entrance was nothing more than a gap in the palisade large enough to fit an entire elm tree snuggly. Judging from the number of other guards leisurely walking behind the group posted at the bonfire, Miro Miro had finally reached the soldiers’ home.

The fairy uneasily lowered herself into the well lit street leading to the bonfire and hid behind a barrel sitting in front of a store. She was hesitant to approach the gate after the last soldier she encountered had helped the shopkeeper capture her. Miro Miro hovered low over the barrel, partly studying the soldiers and partly fighting her nerve, for many minutes, before she decided that the soldiers were going to do more than sit and then got a grip of herself.

Of course, waltzing nonchalantly up to a group of soldiers was easier said than done. The anxious thoughts and doubts racing through her head made every heartbeat feel like hours. Thankfully, she displayed none of the physiological symptoms of her anxiety unlike her Kokiri counterpart, who would sweat and tremor until he either cried or wet himself. Once she could feel the heat of the fearsome fire cultivating on the ground, she cautiously and timidly grabbed their attention,“Um, excuse me. Um, can you tell me where the Castle Barracks are?”

The group of soldiers, a little less than a dozen men and women, stood and turned toward her. She froze, thinking they were going to catch her like the last one tried. But then the tallest of the men responded, “Yeah, behind us. Why?”

His hostile question froze Miro Miro into a frenzied silence. No good words could form a proper answer to the question. His large eyes furrowed from his distrusting frown, covered by his thin, scraggly beard. The bonfire’s radiance reflected brilliantly off of his golden breast plate, but it was preventing her from seeing Rowark ever again. But then she remembered why she was here! “I’m looking for Rowark. He’s my only friend I have in, in,” she was going to say the city, but she had been alone for so long, that she said instead, “in all of Hyrule.”

The man’s frown curled upward from the namedrop, “A friend of hero boy eh? Good to meet ya, then. A friend of hero boy is a friend of mine!”

The short haired, brunette soldier slapped the man on the back of his head with her golden plated gauntlet. “Have you forgotten already? Rowark said he got help from a fairy, this is her! Am I right?” she asked Miro Miro.

“Yes!” this was going well so far, “Please! Can you take me to him?”

“Well,” the taller man began with the word that presumed all disappointing sentences, “We’re on watch here tonight, so we can’t leave this place. But I can tell you he’s having a good time at the homecoming party back in the mess hall.”

“Yeah he is!” chimed in a man that Miro Miro noticed could not stand straight. The shorter, heavier set soldier held a small vase of something in his right hand as his left hand leaned on one of his taller compatriots. “He had a good amount to drink tonight that’s for sure!” he said before belching out a laugh. “Oy, when’s your watch done?” he asked Rowark’s friend.

“Midnight. Will you still be at the pubs by then?”

“We ain’t going to the pubs, we’re going to the brothel! HAHA!” he fired a lewd laughter into the night sky, and all the men laughed along. “But hero boy ain’t coming with us.” That statement brought down the mood with a few awws. “Can you believe it? He’s going to bed! After surviving an entire season out there, a place where there’s nothing resembling a woman’s sheath, he prefers his own, rock solid bed over the loving warmth of a Gerudo bosom!” The comment drew laught from all the men, but their female compatriots looked at each other with thick-skinned silence.

“Yeah, but he’s always been like that. Raised like that I think,” the tall soldier replied. Rowark wasn’t lewd like that, Miro Miro knew this to be true in her heart and believed heavily. The man then addressed the fairy, “Rowark’s back in the main mess hall, then. Go through the main entrance into the barracks all the way to the end of the hall, make a right, go all the way to the end of that hall, make a left, and then any of the three doors on the right lead to the mess hall.”

_ Main entrance, end of hall, right, end of hall, left, right doors _ , she reminded herself while the memory was still fresh. “Thank you!” Miro Miro said with much gratitude and relief from the stranger’s assistance before flying past him.

The unpaved path to the entrance lead straight to the great, elm door, and about a dozen torch stands and heavily armed sentries stood posted along the road. A great field lay between the great borders, the barracks to the north, the wall to the west, the cliff to the east, and the barracks palisade behind her. Every piece of space in that field was occupied with a tent or a fire pit.  _ There, there couldn’t be that many people either, right? _ she asked as she estimated that the entire Kokiri populace could comfortably live in these tents.

Along the western border, armorers, blacksmiths, provisioners, and stablemasters were busy servicing and selling their wares to the crowd of armored Hylians into the late evening. Many ate, drank, and told stories around the campfires far and few between each block of residents; otherwise, they were either busy with their duties, whether it meant going somewhere or standing still.

Despite how tall the city wall looked, it paled in grandeur to the city barracks. Layered roofs covered with bowmen and big, scary looking weapons could deter the nastiest of all the forest monsters. Nothing about the fearsome defenses and torch lighting could make the fortress feel inviting and warm. Like an unwanted house fly, she zipped inside past the half open door.

Up high near the tip of the arched ceiling, no one noticed that she existed. Immediately upon entry, the various banners hanging along the walls, brighter environment, and immense space of the foyer took Miro Miro aback. She flew past above all the hubbub and the activity going on below, and she paid special attention to the long, red rug along the floor leading down a very wide hallway.  _ End of the hall _ .

But was she supposed to turn right or left? Curse her memory!

The tiny ball of light sunk slowly until Miro Miro found an isolated soldier, a larger, mature woman with wavy red hair, and dove in after her. “Excuse me!” Miro Miro called out.

When the woman turned around, her foot got caught on the ground, causing her to tumble backwards onto the ground. When the woman would not open her eyes, Miro Miro thought she might have accidentally killed her. Then a booming snore exploded from the woman, then some babbling spilled out, “Mooore wine, puh-leeesh….”

Unsure of how to make of that response, Miro Miro asked again, “Um, excuse me?”

Another powerful snore erupted from her, and then more sleep talk. “Oh, Sirrr Jormax, yourr embraashe isz sssoooo waarrm...!” a smile crept on her face as she curled into a ball.

“Are you, are you okay?” Miro Miro asked.

“Eh, she’s fine.” Another voice whipped Miro Miro around. A brown haired, female soldier, slightly more petite than the one laying on the ground and much younger, carrying a man slumped over on her shoulders used her short, strong legs to crouch and grab the sleeping person by the arm. “She’s just had too much to drink.”

“Too much to drink of what?” was Miro Miro’s genuine question.

The woman stopped in the midst of hoisting her companion onto her other shoulder to give Miro Miro a dumbfounded look on her slightly scarred face. “You’re definitely not from around here,” was her unnecessary, cold response. “Oy, Malon, come on, up on me shoulder. Let’s getcha home afore someone nastier than me does.”

The remark made Miro Miro feel unwelcome, and suddenly she realized she was amidst a crowd of strangers all wearing the same uniform. This was a place meant for Hylian soldiers, Miro Miro had no right to be here. Right…  _ Right! _ She had to make a right at the end of the hall, then she had to make a left at the end of that hall!

Having recalled the instructions, Miro Miro flew back to the safety of the ceiling and faithfully followed the directions. When she rounded the left corner, she saw that the three wide doors were swung wide open, leading to one of the biggest spaces Miro Miro had ever seen before.

No cavern she encountered could house hundreds upon hundreds of men and women dining beside each other. Tables and benches stretched as far as the eye could see with golden armored soldiers occupying every available seat. All except for the curious group jumping all over their small section of the mess hall. The way they tumbled, rolled, and horsed around the bench and the table reminded Miro Miro of the way the Kokiri used to play during meal times.

The only way to find Rowark without searching through hundreds, maybe even thousands, of unfamiliar faces was to ask someone. Miro Miro built up the nerve to approach a soldier again. “Excuse me,” she flew beside a man with a pointed beard carrying a tray of empty dishes, “Could you help me find my friend Rowark?”

The scruffy soldier cleared his throat and spit it out, “Rowark? He went back up to the living quarters,” and then continued his way.

“Wait!” Miro Miro called out again, “Where is the living quarters?”

The guard let out annoyed grunt and pointed to a distant door on the other end of the dining room, “You’re gonna have to go all the way back to the entrance, but the door will be on your right as you go in. Rowark’s on the fifth floor I think. Now leave me alone!”

Back the way she came. “Thanks,” she muttered, feeling weak and defeated. After everything she had gone through in one day, coming all the way here for nothing felt like insult added to injury. With a heavy heart of frustration weighing her down, she sulked back towards the main entrance without caring who or what in the barracks’ walls could harm her. She just wanted an end to the day.

None of the soldiers’ looks bothered her one bit by this point. Her instructions were as clear as day by the time she entered the main foyer from whence she arrived. There were two doorways on her right, which would have normally made Miro Miro scared to guess incorrectly or ask the next rude person, but her mood put her in a mindset that deduced that the doorway experiencing more traffic was the way to the living quarters.

She had to be sure though, so she approached an old, hairy man walking from the traffic wearing nothing but a towel wrapped his big waist. “Have you seen Rowark?” she asked him plainly.

“Yeah, uh,” he grunted back at her as he pointed behind him, “I think I saw him back that way.”

Then it was beyond reasonable doubt. Rowark and the living quarters were just up ahead. Miro Miro zipped past the open door and through the hall as fast as she could, too excited to see her friend again for her to pay attention to the steam...

Only to find herself at the barracks’ bath room. She stopped dead in the air and felt her body flush at the sight of nude men walking around the tiled room. She scanned the steamy room, trying not to get distracted by the nakedness around her, unsure if Rowark was here or not. Sifting through the steam, she searched each bath for him, calling out his name timidly, so as not to attract too much to herself.

Her eyes instinctively transfixed on an unmistakable muff of hair and thick, shaggy beard. There he was, submerged in water except for his gorgeous, young face, and his arms relaxed over the tub.

“Rowark!” she dashed to his bathtub and began sobbing, which immediately disrupted his moment of peace and quiet, “Rowark! I was so scared! I hate Castle City! It was so horrible!”

He sat up immediately, “Hey, what happened? Did you find your friend?” Rowark extended his hand so that Miro Miro could land on his wet palm.

“No,” was all she could muster before she crashed onto his moist skin and cried into Rowark’s warm, welcoming essence. “I hate Castle City!” she screamed into his hand and continued sobbing. “Castle City is so big, I didn’t know where to go, I kept getting lost, and EVERYONE is so rude!”

“I’m so terribly sorry, I should have known leaving you alone was a very bad idea,” Rowark interjected.  _ You should not apologize for my naivete and foolishness _ , she wanted to say to him but could not because of her uncontrollable hiccuping between sobs.

She then had to unload a thought weighing heavily in her mind. “And then there was a scary shop owner who kept all these fairies trapped, and then he tried to kidnap me!” she said in between sobs.

“I can do something about that! If you give me his address, we can arrest him properly and seize the evidence!” Miro Miro did not know what “arresting” or “seizing evidence” meant, but both those actions excited him, and that made Miro Miro okay with that plan. Then, Rowark dipped his head in remorse and sighed, “I must apologize once more. Before we parted ways, I should have warned you that fairies fetch a high price in Hyrule Castle City.”

“But,” What was a price? Why were people after fairies? So many questions about this city and how it worked. “Why?”

“Um,” he hesitated for a few heartbeats, “You wouldn’t like the answer if I told you.”

Miro Miro gave that response a moment to think over, and then she finally said, “Not today then, I don’t wanna know.” She had experienced enough trauma for one day. The truth could wait.

“How about your friend? Do you think he is here in Castle City?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But the problem is that I have not seen my companion in many years, so…” She focused and recalled all her memories as best as she could to conjure up a picture of him, “I barely remember what he even looked like.”

Rowark could not reply, for both suddenly concluded impossible odds against Miro Miro in her quest. How many rooms of towers, houses, warehouses, and other kinds of buildings she did not yet know exist would she search? How many possible living spaces in all the roads and all the alleyways did she have to search? How was she going to be able to tell her companion from the countless possible thousands of people living in the city? How was she going to definitively prove beyond reasonable doubt that he was not here? Searching through every face in Hyrule felt like searching for a tree in a forest. Even though Miro Miro had an eternity to search underneath each and every roof and rock, Rowark did not.

His boyish voice broke the silence, “How long did you say you were in the forest?”

“Twenty eight winters,” Miro Miro answered without hesitation.

Rowark brushed his long, light brown beard, “Curious. Then, wouldn’t your friend look very different after 28 years?”

“You don’t understand, he’s a Kokiri. He looks like a child.”

Quiet followed Rowark’s state of deep thought, “I, uh. You are correct, I don’t understand. What?”

“They stay children forever.” Silence. Did he not understand? Miro Miro thought she could not get any simpler than that. “The Kokiri do not age.”

“I get it, but,” Rowark still looked puzzled, “How’s that even possible?”

Miro Miro pondered upon the question as well. Until then, it had never occurred to her that she had never encountered death. “No one knows, and no one asks. All we know is that all this is made possible by the Great Deku Tree.”

“Great Deku Tree, huh,” Rowark scratched his chin even more. “I recall him from the stories, is that the talking tree who raised the great Hero of Time?”

The term “talking tree” felt disrespectful to her, but she also knew Rowark had never seen Him before. “The Great Deku Tree who raised the Hero died by Ganondorf’s hand. But a new one was reborn when the Hero returned as an adult and defeated the evil in the forests.”

“So, if the Hero became an adult because he was a Hylian like me, then how did he arrive in the Kokiri Village?”

“I still remember the night he arrived to the village,” said Miro Miro to a fully absorbed adolescent, “That night, a local druid of the Lost Woods rode a horse carrying a child. She was gravely wounded, and it was too late for the Great Deku Tree to save her. We mourned for her, for she was a friend of the forest. The child was orphaned and had nowhere to go, but because the Great Father cherished all life, He decided to care for the child of destiny.”

“You’ve,” shock coursed through Rowark’s body, “you’ve met the… the Hero of Time?”

“Definitely! He was a wonderful and polite boy as he grew up, just like Father was. The Hero spent most of his time with the Great Deku Tree because he could not get along well with the others.”

Again, silence. Rowark’s jaw gaped wide open in disbelief, his dirty beard dipping in the bath water. He wanted to form words with his mouth, but somehow the incredibility of her story seemed to have paralyzed him.

Miro Miro made sure he was still healthy, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Rowark snapped out of his state of disbelief, and then started laughing. “Haha! I just. Wow! I have so many questions I want to ask you. It was my favorite story when I was younger, you know? I always asked my father to tell that story at least once at every campfire.” His face then faded into a frown, as if his own words had triggered an unpleasant memory. He looked down and began shaking.

It was clear Miro Miro had upset him, which upset her, “I’m sorry…”

“No! It’s…” Rowark sniffed as drops fell into the water, and then he raised his red, moist eyes to show that he was smiling, “I’m crying out of happiness. It’s the only pleasant memory I have left of my father, so… forgive me. I am still in disbelief that I have met living proof of the legend, which makes it history, now, I guess, haha.” He paused to wipe the tears from his face and force a laugh. “I, I must finish washing up, and I would like my privacy. There’s a lot going on in my head, so I need some time to myself as I finish getting ready for sleep.”

“It’s okay, I am just relieved that I did not make you mad.”

Rowark chuckled through the tears, “Oh don’t worry, haha. I’ll be finished momentarily. Meet you outside the bath room, okay?”

Miro Miro hopped off his hand, ready to flee from all the nudity, “Deal!”


	6. You Promised Me

Quietness shared the space with the dark. Link leisurely walked back to the Zawks under the safety of the torch lights and posted watch. While any watchman had the right to arrest Link and take him in for wandering outside past curfew, any watchman also knew that the city streets were full of ruffians and monsters much more dangerous than any threat Link posed. Not a single watchman even glanced over in Link’s direction as he strolled through the familiar streets.

Unfortunately, he had strayed quite far from the target in his quest for his necessary items, but he had until sun up to destroy the blacksmith as well as the day after’s sun up if his empty stomach could handle another day without food. With only five rupees worth of materials, Link was quite proud of what he had bargained for, but it was not enough. The blacksmith would have to provide the rest of the missing items.

A growl of hunger erupted from within his malnourished frame. Luckily, it brought attention to none, as far as Link could tell from the vacated street. Not a stir in the light or in the dark. His stomach painfully distracted him from his journey, but with a strong image of his destination in mind, Link trudged forth against the pain. By now it was pointless to find food. The only places to find anything edible at this hour were located in the back alleyways, and they were also commonly known as heaps of rubbish.

Although Link’s legs did not feel any weaker than normal, his stomach became a void that seemed to drain the energy in his torso. He diverted all thoughts away from his inner void so that his feet could march on faithfully to the destination, but each step eventually felt like his feet were pushing through soft mud. After trudging through the agony, Link had at last reached the street intersection preceding the blacksmith.

The same two sentries were the same as before, but the posted watch across the street was no longer there. Perfect. Link looked both ways before entering the darkness that occupied the center of the street. Under the cover of darkness and guided by his experience in stealth, the boy slipped into the gap between buildings.

The alleyway was so dark Link could not even see his hand held out in front of him. But a good short term memory could pinpoint the scaffolding exactly where he remembered it. He confidently reached out and grabbed the invisible wooden beam. And without any light whatsoever, Link lifted himself up off the ground and grabbed onto another beam. _Heh_ , he thought to himself, _I coulda done this blindfolded_.

Near the top, moonlight from the sky bled onto the rooftops and soft wind flowed like a river. With his eyes adjusted to the pitch dark, Link could see the cityscape, as well as his own surroundings, as clear as day. It was a one, two, and a hop off the scaffolding, over the three story fall, onto the slanted roof…

Which was more slippery than Link had anticipated. His landing could not have been more perfect, but his bare feet slipped against the wooden shingling, giving him a jolt of bloodrush coursing from his heart. His prone body kept Link from slipping any further. He rose to his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way up.

It was the big chimney. There was no more smoke coming out of it, but the wind carried the ashy smell straight into Link’s face. He unwrapped the coil of rope and then wrapped the chimney once around before tying a firm knot. The rest of the slack went once around his waist and under the drawstring in his pants before climbing to the chimney top.

Link threw the rope down the chimney, and then the sweet satisfying sound of impact upon ground echoed up through the chimneys. With one hand firmly gripping the slack and the other gripping the end, he hopped over the chimney. Immediately, he felt his free falling body tighten the rope around his waist and his drawstring tighten around his back, but he was safely suspended. By gently releasing the brake and feeding slack with the other, Link lowered himself back into darkness without any hassle.

Upon touching the rocky bottom, Link unwrapped the rope around his waist and searched for the exit of what he assumed was the furnace. His eyes may have adjusted to the darkness, but finding his way around was still impossible in the absence of light. Finally, his hand felt the mouth of the furnace, and he hopped out into a large room that only had a single torch in the entire work space.

Link went straight for the counter in the center of the blacksmith which had all of the blacksmith’s tools and began feeling around in the darkness. Metal instruments were scattered everywhere, and although the lack of lighting lighting made discerning the tools from one another difficult, it was not hard to find the wooden handle of the hammer, and so he grabbed it.

Next, he needed steel against which to strike the flint. Sure he could pick one of many iron instruments on the tables, or he could pick one of the Zawks’ finest blades resting proudly against a rack, but he would need both his hands to climb back out of the chimney, so the blade would have to fit snuggly in his pants. Once again, his fingers went back to feeling for the sharpened edge of a blade. _Ow!_ His finger felt the nick of pain as it slid across something sharp. Good enough. His hand found the blade handle, while his other withdrew the flint in his pocket.

Sparks flew out as Link’s hand guided the stone onto the blade in total darkness, but the torch was stubborn. Finally, a spark caught onto the end of the torch, and light quickly filled the room shortly after. The small knife in his left hand turned out to be a woodsman’s blade. It was a good blade, one durable and sharp enough to cut through wood, so he tucked it in the drawstrings hoisting his pants. Link grabbed the candle off the table so that he could continue exploring more of the blacksmith.

Next, he needed to find the fuel source. There had to be some place where they kept the peat, or the charcoal, or the firewood even. But there was none as far as Link’s limited nightvision could see. From dark corner to dark corner, the shop only had counters, anvils, shelves, and racks full of works in progress. No, there had to be a fire source somewhere in the blacksmith shop; Zawk swords were not made with Goron magic, only Goron smithing techniques.

_Think!_ he urged himself, _The heat source must be near the furnace!_ Link checked the area near the furnace; nothing but the entrance, the tools hanging by, and the short little rope hanging off of the floorboard? He grabbed the rope and pulled upward, but it would not budge. After several unsuccessful tugs, it dawned on him that he was stepping on a trapdoor, and so he moved over and pulled wide open the door leading into the cellar below.

He descended down the stairs into the darkness, guided by the candlelight. The cramped space underneath, nothing more than rubble beneath a wooden floorboard, had two torches. When the flame from the candle touched the fuel of the torch, the light in the room revealed a pile of firewood in one corner and large pile of… black rocks? Link picked up one of the stones. It felt like charcoal, and it yet it felt like a rock. What was this?

It was a question for another time. Link put his faith in the rock, praying to the rock that it would burn as fiercely as charcoal. He grabbed many handfuls and laid them out on the ground, and then he smashed one with the hammer. The rock shattered into many pieces with little force just like charcoal did. To test their flammability, he grabbed a sprinkle in his fingers and threw it into the fire of the torch; to his happy surprise, little specks of flame flew out the other side. With an evil grin on his scarred face, Link began hammering away at the black stones until they became black dust.

The rocks must have been the Zawk brothers’ trade secret. And the fire Link was about to start was going to burn their trade secret to ashes. It was his final, missing ingredient. Collecting the dust, Link poured the black powder into his leather wallet, which contained the egg dust and the poop salt already, and mixed the ingredients with his hands every once in a while until the bag had ripened into a large, leathery fruit.

The firewood piled next to the black fuel all he needed to create the fire. Link carefully placed each log of wood on top of the pile of the black stones. After crushing more of the black stones, Link sprinkled the powder around the flammable pyre. All that was left to do was to plunge one of the torches into the pyre, and hopefully by the time anyone discovered that a fire was consuming the premises, it would already have been too late to stop the flame. But before he did so, he bent over and grabbed a large piece, stuffing it into his belt pouch. Surely someone would pay good money for this trade secret.

Sinisterly laughing to himself as he felt the heat grow upon his skin, Link walked back up the stairs with his homemade bomb and set the bomb in the mouth of the furnace. The woodsman’s blade cut through the rope like butter so that Link could use one end of the slack to plug the opening of his bomb and laid out the rest of the slack in the general direction of the bomb.

Suddenly, Link’s feet began to feel hot. Smoke was beginning to seep through the tiny gaps in the floor. The fire burns this hot already? Panicked, Link dropped the rest of the slack and instantly headed for the furnace. The fire from the cellar was going to ignite the fuse any minute now. There was no time wasted between his climb through the mouth of the furnace to his hand grabbing the rope. Blood rush coursed through his body and guided his hands as they grabbed rope after rope. The athletic child scaled upward with his strong arms at a fast pace, but nothing made his blood rush harder than when he suddenly felt the rope break…

_Of all the times_ , Link thought to himself as he fell. His leg was the first part to feel impact upon the ground, and so a searing of pain coursed from his leg into the rest of his body as he landed painfully next to the bomb. All the wind had been forced out of his lungs, luckily rendering him unable to scream in pain, only grunt pathetically. Any movement was denied by excruciating pain. As Link struggled to gasp for air, he could see the flames poking through the floorboard. At any moment, the floor would become too hot for Link to stand on, let alone cross. _Oh well_ , he thought to himself as he relaxed his body and closed his eyes, _I guess this is as good as any excuse to finally die_.

There was no future for him in this wretched world anyway. Only pain and misery.

_Promise me!_ her familiar voice pounded into his head. A tear rolled down his eye.

_I can’t_ , Link spoke back to her memory, _I’m so tired. I just wanna sleep. Just like the rest of you._

_No!_ she retorted sharply, instantly quashing all potential comebacks, _You promised me!_

Link opened his eyes and sighed, “I did promise you.” A new will to survive and blood rush awakened within him. It was only a matter of heartbeats before the makeshift fuse would catch on fire. First, he had to regain his breathing. Only when he could control his inhales and exhales did he begin pushing off of his healthy leg, painfully scooting himself towards the mouth of the furnace against the rough, sharp rocks underneath him. Once he reached the lip, he used his arms to lift his tender leg over the edge and onto the ground.

Damn the pain made walking feel impossible. It would have been under any situation less life threatening than his current one, however. He wasted no time in reaching for the door, but while rushing out, he tripped over a stool and fell prone onto the hard surface. Immediately he could feel the front of his body begin to cook from the fire underneath, but survival instinct told him there was no time for pain. His knees and feet seared but would not quit until he reached the door.

His hand reached for the doorknob, and he lifted himself up to unlock the deadbolt. It was stuck. His heart raced faster and faster as each heartbeat ticked by. With a final twist, the deadbolt came loose, and the twist of the doorknob sent the burglar crashing forth onto the town street.

Link sighed in relief, but that was before he was looking at the pointy end of two spears. “What do you think you’re doing, chump?” asked one of the blacksmith’s guards.

“Uh, I obviously just broke in,” Link said as he caught his breath, “but what I just did isn’t as important as what is about to happen,” Link retorted while using his good leg to continue pushing himself away from the building.

The two guards looked at him confused, and then the loud blast, louder than any normal bomb could make, clarified that statement...


	7. News of the Realm

When Rowark emerged from the bath house, he was almost unrecognizable. His dirty and oily hair was replaced with a clean and bright blonde haircut; his dark beard was no more, revealing a boyish skin that made him look like a teenager; his smile was even more enchanting when he spotted Miro Miro. Wearing casual wear, a long sleeved, red tunic and tight, matching pants, and a fresh bandage wrapping around his left hand, Rowark waved at her. “Do you mind following me? I promised my sister I would catch up with her before I go to sleep.”

Miro Miro nodded. She was excited to see his family! If his sister were anywhere as nice as Rowark, then Miro Miro could have two friends in the city! Surely his sister would help them on Miro Miro’s mission. Next to the bath room was the stony stairwell leading up to the dorms, and the climb up the three flights was quiet.

“How many flights of steps  _ are _ there?” asked Miro Miro’s curiosity as Rowark opened a door.

“Six on this side. These flight of steps lead to the top of the wall.” They entered a long and cramped corridor that seemed to stretch on forever, dimly illuminated by the torches suspended between dorm rooms. Rowark continued his lecture, “On the other side of the barracks, those flight of steps lead up to the sixteenth floor so far.”

“Wh-what do you mean  _ so far _ ?” A sixteen story tower would have been impossible to miss on her way here.

“Most of the barracks are actually built into the western cliff, right underneath the Castle, which gives us plenty of room to excavate more of the old castle and build more floors.”

“Huh,” was her dumbfounded response. Hylians amazed her all the more. They continued walking down the hall until Rowark stopped in front of a rectangular door with a small, metal plaque with the engraving “367” before knocking.

“It’s unlocked!” they heard from the other side of the wooden door.

Rowark took the cue to open the door and enter. The heartbeat Rowark’s foot crossed the threshold a woman, the same blonde from before who carried the two unconscious soldiers on her shoulders, instantly jumped from her seat and wrapped her arm around Rowark, who returned the embrace immediately. Unreal bliss exploded between the reunited siblings and emitted their happy sentiments to everyone in the vicinity. Except for Miro Miro, who remembered exactly how rude she had been in their previous encounter…

The bedroom was cramped. The two bunk beds resting against the corners opposite the entrance took up most of what little space there was. Two small desks occupied the adjacent corners, each designed as a workspace for two as there were two chairs to a desk.

“Rowark,” she longingly whispered into his breast and tightened her grip, “Thank the Goddesses. I knew they wouldn’t take my only family away from me.”

“Alexa,” Rowark responded to the warm welcome and planted a tender kiss on the top of her hair, “you could have returned to Ordon if you wanted to.”

She broke away from the embrace with tears streaming down her face and delivered her ultimatum, “I would rather die avenging you than go back home!” Then she buried her face into his tunic as more tears moistened Rowark’s sleepwear.

The uncomfortable feeling of tears and snot draining onto his tunic was the last thing on his mind. Rowark slowly rubbed her back, tenderly reminding her that her brother was safe at home, and all was good. Then, he broke the embrace and extended a hand towards Miro Miro, who was caught off guard.

“Alexa, this is Miro Miro,” Rowark introduced, “I would not be here without her help.”

Miro Miro instantly remembered the woman’s rudeness from their prior engagement, giving her a tinge of anxiety. An awkward feeling washed over her, and she could sense that the poor young woman was feeling that exact same sensation. “You were, that fairy that I…” Her shocked expression spread guilt all over her face, “Please forgive me!” Alexa groveled with her head bowed onto the fur rug, “I should not have been so foul to you. I beg forgiveness, Fairy. I prayed to the Goddesses everyday that Rowark would come home safely, and had I known that the Goddesses sent you to guide him home…” the rest was lost in her sobbing.

Her brother lifted her by her arm and comforted her, “There, there…”

Well, now Miro Miro felt bad. “I forgive you. You are Rowark’s family, after all.”

Alexa looked at the fairy dead center with runny eyes and nose and pledged, “My life is to Rowark, as is to yours too!”

“Okay, um…” Miro Miro was just beginning to grasp the gravity of guiding Rowark to safety. She may have been immortal, but she had never felt so insignificant before. Had Rowark never come across Miro Miro, a hungry Skulltula would have eaten her, and no one would have ever known the world had one less fairy. Rowark, on the other hand, had friends and family who were feeling pain from their loss. “Well actually,” she corrected, “Rowark saved my life first, so accompanying him home was more of returning the favor.”

“Miro Miro,” Rowark said with playful annoyance, “you’re too modest!”

The comment had made her blush, even delighted her, “It’s true though!”

He could only smile back, exciting Miro Miro with giddiness. Alexa and Rowark both sat down before he began his questions, “So sister, what news I have missed in the past season?”

Alexa opened her mouth to speak, but an scowl exhaled instead, “Ugh, where to even begin?”

“We can begin with news about the realm.”

“Not good, if it ever is,” Alexa started, “People talk about Moblins pushing further from the southern woods.” Miro Miro did not know what “pushing” meant in this context, but she had heard of Moblins, the burly, leather skinned, boar headed beasts best known for kidnapping princesses and children. However, no one in the village had ever laid eyes on one, so the threat they posed to Kokiri was nonexistent.

“That’s not new,” said Rowark dryly.

“What is new is how far they’ve come and how much they’ve grown. Lord Springbock’s diplomats constantly pester the Queen for Royal reinforcements and clearing parties.”

“But doesn’t Castle Springbock have mighty walls?”

“They do, but Springbock’s armies cower behind them, leaving no one left to defend the villages. Most of the southern settlements are occupied by the Bokoblins now.”

This news was certainly shocking, “Bokoblins!? How?” The little tribal cretins were very real threats that lived outside of the Kokiri Village. Many children who had wandered too far from the village had met a terrible fate at the hands of these vermin.

“I was just as surprised as you were when I first heard the report,” Alexa had to take a heartbeat and a breath, “There is no mistake about it, the Bokoblins and the Bulblins have allied with Moblins within the past season.”

_ Yikes! _ Miro Miro reactively thought to herself. Bulblins were rarer, but they were far scarier. They looked like Bokoblins, but they were much taller, some even as tall as Rowark, and were said to be armed with Hylian weapons. But they were more or less on the side of myth. Many fairies had claimed they had seen one, but no one ever dared to venture too far outside the Kokiri village to prove it.

This was the first time Miro Miro had ever heard about Bulbins and Moblins being a tangible threat.

Rowark spoke in a solemn voice, “The Queen will have to appoint Din’s Champion soon to combat the invaders. Until then, Duke Faron and his people will be in my prayers.” Miro Miro had the chills thinking about what an army of the Lost Wood’s nastiest creatures looked like.

“Not mine!” Alexa’s response shocked both Miro Miro and Rowark, “His incredibly absurd requests to send troops and rations that far south are unnecessary and are doing us more harm!”

“What is absurd about defending the realm?”

“He has his own armies to protect him, and Lord June sends his own clearing parties out already!” He had hit a nerve, and her news about the realm quickly became an venting of emotions, “Outlying Goron tribes still fight the Alliance, so they ask US for more troops! Castle Ingo claims they have cannay spare the manpower to protect their own damned holdings, so not a single soldier is spared to aid their people from the highway lords, so they ask US for more troops! Zola bandits disrupt trade between the Zoras and the Deku -”

“So they ask us for more troops. But we have a vested interest in protecting our own trade too.”

“You get the idea, though,” and that was enough to calm her down. “Our forces are already spread thinly enough. We have no more heavy infantry and cavalry divisions garrisoned here anymore, they’re all out there, fighting wars started by the other Lords! And because of that, we don’t have enough watch to effectively protect the city!”

“How bad is it?”

“Hoy, it’s bad,” she said as she was about to drop the bad news, “We’ve gotten at least thirty new gang profiles in the last tendo alone.”

“Thirty!?” Rowark couldn’t believe it.  _ Hmm _ , Miro Miro thought to herself,  _ this gang profile monster sounds scarier than a moblin. _

“Aye. Slug the Quick, the Craver, and Polleck the Drunkard have come out of hiding because of the new competition.” Such peculiar names for monsters that could scare Rowark. “Fighting is fiercest near the Eastern border, so lots of watchmen are posted in that area. And the higher ups have been chaotic as of late due to the Princess.”

“Why? What’s been going on?”

Alexa’s face instantly dropped, “Oh my, you haven’t heard…”

“What?”

“The Princess fell deathly ill about two tendos after you disappeared. I took it as an omen that the Goddesses had finally abandoned us.”

This news hit Rowark with shock, “Can they save her?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Three days ago I was at the Castle, and several of the maids told me about the Princess’s worsening situation. The entire place was just chaotic because of it. Everyone was running around like it was a madhouse.”

“I suspect it is because the Queen is trying to assemble an emergency Parliament to vote in a new heir.”

_ Parluhment? Vote? Air? _ These words made absolutely no sense in Miro Miro’s mind, but maybe she would find out soon.

“They’ve been at it for tendos now, and at this rate, I’m gonna die at a ripe old age before they even put the first of hundreds of votes together.”

“Such is our system. You and I are powerless to change it.”

“And that’s why I never paid attention to politics!” Everyone lightheartedly laughed finally.

“Fair enough. Did you perchance hear talk about which Princess will be representing each house?”

“What’s the difference between them? They’re all blonde haired, blue eyed,” Rowark began stifling an uncontrollable laugh, “pompous, Hyborns with fake breasts looking down on the rest of us. Oh, and they’re all named Zelda!”

Rowark and Alexa burst into laughter before they fell on the floor. The joke was completely lost on Miro Miro, and as the laughter went on, she continued to wonder why. But it looked like both needed that.

“Hoh, that was funny!” Rowark said as he stood up.

Alexa, still laughing, followed him up. “Heh heh, well you know how I’ve always felt about them Hyborns.”

“You never change.”

“Neither do you.”

The laughter had died but left great smiles on their faces, “How about I end the night on that good feeling?”

“Aye, ‘tis getting late,” she smiled, stood up from her seat, waited for him to do so, and then wrapped her arms around her brother. The heartbeat Rowark’s arms embraced her too, tears fell from her face once again.

“It’s okay, Alexa. No matter what, I am always here for you,” Rowark placed his hand on her hand, “So if you need anything, anything at all, you let me know, okay?”

Alexa sniffed and nodded her head in response, dampening the cloth underneath her chin. “Okay,” she hoarsely said.

“We’ll talk more,” said Rowark as he broke the embrace and gently kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight.” Alexa was closing the door behind Rowark when she suddenly said, “You know, you remind me of the Hero of Time.”

Rowark looked at himself in embarrassment, “How? I’m far from the warrior he was.”

Alexa’s eyes briefly glanced at Miro Miro, “Well, you emerged from the Lost Woods with a fairy, just like he did.”

“Maybe, but that’s the only connection we share,” he shared a glance with Miro Miro, who had witnessed the legend unfold before her eyes a century ago. She honestly thought Rowark was as kind and as courageous as the Hero once was, but she could not compare herself against the late, great Navi. “Goodnight.” 

Miro Miro followed her companion down the hallway opposite the way they came. His short hair gleamed beautifully with every flicker of the torchlight and bounced with every slightest draft of air. 

“May I inquire about your lost companion?” asked Rowark suddenly as soon as he entered the stairwell.

“What would you like to know?” her voice echoed up and down the dark, cylindrical shaft.

“For starters, you’ve never shared his name with me.”

“Topah. That one is easy. What else?”

“Tell me about your relationship with Topah,” he asked her.

“Hmm, that is tougher. I don’t know how to describe it,” Miro Miro had a difficult time remembering the life that she had taken for granted for the majority of her existence, “We fairies are like mothers, but not really. The Great Deku Tree assigns a fairy to each Kokiri.”

“Just like the Hero was paired with the fairy Navi!” Rowark’s face beheld the wonderment of a child once again, “Sorry. It was my favorite story growing up. I loved hearing about the Hero of Time’s adventures. Things are so different now from the stories that I just find it hard to believe that heroes once existed.” In the one day Miro Miro spent in Hyrule Castle City, she understood his sentiment all too well. “Sorry for getting off topic. So back to you and Topah.”

“Topah was born after the war ended. The new Deku Tree used his youthful energy to create more Kokiri and populate the village, and then he invited fairies from all over the forest to live in the village and become a child’s companion. I'm like his eternal parent.”

As they rounded the corner and exited the dorm halls, Rowark hesitantly asked, “Do you feel responsible for losing him?”

“YES!” Miro Miro stopped to let out that cry, “He loved playing hide and seek so much, and one day, we were too deep in the Lost Woods, and then I just couldn't find him. I haven’t stopped searching for him since. During the many years I’ve been searching for him, I kept thinking what I could've done differently to prevent all of this!” Confessing that after years of solitude felt surprisingly good. However, in letting out her feelings, she also began sobbing.

“Hey,” Rowark consoled, “that doesn’t matter! We’re going to find Topah, all right?”

She hiccuped, “Mmhmm.”

“Do you know if he’s in Hyrule Castle City?”

“I don’t even know if he’s still in the Lost Woods! Goddesses, so much has happened in twenty eight years, he could be anywhere! Do you come across a lot of Kokiri?”

“Not really, I don’t know.”

Miro Miro perked up and stopped crying, “I don’t know?”

Rowark sighed, “Well, the way you describe him, a boy that looks like he’s ten, that could be any street urchin on the street. Any kid that I’ve encountered on patrol could have been a Kokiri!”

“I’m sorry,” Miro Miro quickly retreated her question.

“No, don’t be sorry! Gah!” Rowark apologized in frustration, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“No, you are right,” she relented. Rowark climbed the rest of steps in awkward silence; the only sound made was the impact of the sole of his boot against the stone floor, until he opened a door leading into a lonesomely creepy hallway. Lighting was spaced more sparsely, and there was no shortage of cold air. Each breeze chilled Miro Miro down to her core, but Rowark did not waver once.

“Hmm…” escaped from Rowark’s lips.

“What are you thinking about?” She did not care what was on Rowark’s mind, as long as he said something to break the unsettling silence.

“Hmm,” Rowark seemed deep in thought as stared forward, “I was thinking about a rumor,” his words brought interest back into Miro Miro’s heart. “Many years ago, around the time when I first enlisted, back when slavery was still legal, there was a duke who owned a manor near the eastern side of the field.”

“What is slavery?” After that, she wanted to ask what a “dook” was, and then what a “manner” was afterward.

“Oh Goddesses...” Rowark hesitated for a long heartbeat, “I am about to explain something that may lower your opinion of us Hylians. Do you wish for me to continue?”

Such an odd preface. “As long as I know you’re not one of the bad Hylians, go on.”

“It is when someone is forced to work for someone else and treated as property for the rest of their life.”

Miro Miro gasped, “That’s terrible!”

“That’s why the Queen outlawed it,” Rowark responded with nonsensical jargon again.

“I don’t understand…”

“It means it’s against the rules to own slaves.”

“Oh, okay. So, what happened to the ‘manner’?”

“Burned down mysteriously. Duke Faron lost his eldest son, his future heir. But no one knows how or why the fire started. There are many conspiracies afloat, but the most common story was that the lord had enslaved sons of witches, and that it was their magic that burned the manor down. I’m wondering if those ‘sons of witches’ were the Kokiri you speak of.”

Another awkward silence dominated the air between them. Could Topah have been one of those poor children? She pictured a malnourished, blonde haired boy with skinny arms toiling under the hot, summer sun, tilling the field and picking crops against his will. And then she pictured a great big fire engulfing the field, and poor Topah running away scared. Maybe he got away. Or maybe his body was burnt to the ground.

She started crying loudly again. Rowark attempted to calm her down, “Oh no, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just thinking out loud. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s not that,” she tried to stop crying, but all it did was made her talk in between hiccups, “I-I-I need to prepare for the worst.”

“Oy! Queerdo!” A padded glove extended and firmly gripped Rowark’s shoulder, interrupting the mood immediately. So engrossed in Miro Miro’s crying were both that they did not see the watchman urgently coming towards them, “There’s an emergency deployment. Sir Triss needs every available volunteer to suit up and report to the campground.”

“All right, I’ll be there,” Rowark nodded, “Sorry, I have to get going, but you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

“No! I'm coming with you!” she exclaimed amidst tears. After the other town guard tried to kidnap her, Rowark was still the only person in Hyrule Castle City that she could trust.

Rowark smiled in response, “I was hoping you’d say that! Let’s hurry!” before taking off for the stairs.


	8. Do or Die

Distant footsteps. Still at the scene of the crime. Painful broken leg. All three thoughts woke the boy up. The two men-at-arms that were guarding the smith were out cold. Link was the first to wake up. And now he needed to disappear.

A grunt escaped from his lungs as Link tried to move his body. Disappearing was easier said than done. Try as he might, he could not contain the burning pain coming from inside his leg. By now, the blood rush had subsided, and all that was left was the excruciating hell that prevented any sort of movement in his leg or the rest of his body for that matter. That did not change the urgency of his situation, it only changed how he was going to get moving. “You... promised...” he painfully uttered to himself.

His head swiveled, looking for something to help him get up. The spear lying next to its unconscious owner would have to suffice. Link reached over with his hand and pulled himself across the stony pavement to the body. His rapid breathing was more or less the result of his shrunken lung capacity. Once his fingers firmly wrapped around the wooden shaft, he reached around with his other arm, but pain restricted any potential movement. Link recognized this pain before: his right shoulder was dislocated. He planted his knee onto the ground, then the foot, and finally the spear uprightly before helping himself up. The pain did not lessen one bit, but he finally stood up on his good leg.

It was hard to concentrate on leaving the area when a fire was blazing fiercely in front of him. The entire first floor had caught on fire, and smoke was escaping through the second and third floor windows. He heard panicked and frightened screaming from inside. It was not in Link’s nature to mount a rescue, and he could also begin to hear the sound of multiple footsteps getting louder and louder. The fire blasted its way into the alley with the scaffolding, but he decided to brave the flames anyway. It was his best chance of escaping unseen.

And yet somehow, he knew his promise would dogmatically get him through and keep him alive.

Between the suffocating, dark smoke, the intense heat, and the painful leg, laying down and dying sounded like a very tempting idea. With each step taken, Link’s consciousness slowly dwindled, although this helped to numb the pain in his leg and his arm. He coughed heavily, and soon he had to grip his walking stick with two hands just to keep his body upright. The end was in sight, but would he make it?

A loud crash behind him startled him awake. The scaffolding had come down, making pursuit, and retreat for that matter, impossible now. It was either move or die now. Still, Link’s body struggled to obey each command. Endure the pain or die. The story of Link’s wretched life.

Smoke had been entering his lungs, but as he strained through injuries, his breathing became heavier, until finally his lungs autonomously decided to have uncontrollable coughing fit, and Link soon fell hard onto the stony road. Upon landing, every misplaced piece in his body could be felt.  _ Come on! _ he rallied himself through the coughs,  _ Not much farther! _

It was easier to use his healthy limbs to crawl the rest of the way. No need to worry about falling over and breaking his fragile body any more, the smoke was not as thick, and it was his best chance of survival. Pushing himself forth meant antagonizing the friction between his broken bones and the ground, but he could also feel the less heat and breathe easier. He could finally see the end of the alley just up ahead.

When he finally reached the corner, Link immediately relaxed and released a deep breath, but he also began looking for a place to hide for the night, using only the distant light that blazing fire provided. The sour, pungent odor of dung punched into his nose. Perfect. A pile of human waste is the last place anyone wants to check. He scooted towards the smell along a dirt pavement, towards the fenced enclosure of the dung pile.

In his mind, Link was still gradually getting closer to the foul smell. But in reality, his consciousness had given in before he had even crossed the fence.


	9. Blazing Recklessness

As Miro Miro briskly followed Rowark down the winding tunnels and paths, he explained to her what was going on and the difference between a regular deployment and an emergency deployment. However, the only information she could digest from all the garbled technical jargon was that nobody, not even Rowark, knew what the emergency was until after they had convened in the foyer.

With the turn of a corner, she saw a crowd of soldiers chaotically entering a wide door wearing uniform fatigues and exiting wearing golden armor. Before Miro Miro could ask another one of her hundreds of questions about what was going on, Rowark told her, “Wait here!” and plunged into the crowd.

Miro Miro then looked for Rowark in the emerging crowd. When he did, her wings skipped a beat. Looking like a professional soldier, Rowark stepped out of the crowd wearing a golden breastplate engraved with the familiar Hylian crest, golden pauldrons that covered the shoulder and upper arms, a short, golden gauntlet that extended up to his right wrist, a longer, reinforced gauntlet that extended up his left forearm, a gold plated skirt that stretched down to just above his knee, and sturdy leather boots that looked ready to withstand any kind of weather. He carried his conic helmet at his side, right by the leather belt and the sheathed long knife (or a short sword depending on perspective) resting at his side.

Once they made eye contact, he beckoned her to follow him.

But a lanky authority figure dressed in heavy mail stared straight into Rowark’s eyes. “Oh no… No no no. Absolutely not,” said the bony man wearing a full suit of plate mail that seemed too large for his skinny frame. Wavy, golden hair flowed down the dull metal plates to his upper back, and stern, lake blue eyes showed a great displeasure upon seeing Rowark suited up in his watchman armor. Though Rowark’s plates shined with a new luster of gold, it was nowhere nearly as protective, as thick, nor as layered as the knight’s steel armor.

“People need my help, Triss!” Rowark clasped his hands together to beg, “Please!”

“That's Sir Triss to you! And I said no!” was the knight’s immediate, high-pitched response. “Why? You just got back, and now you want to risk your life again?” Only then did it dawn upon Miro Miro what Rowark was getting himself into. “Listen, you’re an excellent volunteer. One of the best in city for sure. But this emergency is dangerous, and there’s no need for you to risk getting hurt. I have more than enough volunteers to get the job done. Get a good night of sleep. You deserve it. Please, I can’t risk your life, not after Alexa and I both thought you were dead for a damned season!”

Rowark shrugged off the prospect of death, “It’s my job. I’m coming along, and you can’t court martial a volunteer for volunteering.” He concluded with a boyishly cheesy smile that quickly melted Sir Triss’s mature, cold expression.

The knight face palmed in frustration, “Fine! I know you’d just show up anyway.” After a deep pause, a friendly grin crept onto Sir Triss’s lips, “But I’m making you swear to Hylia after this to take a serious tendo of leave. Are we agreed?”

Rowark hopped giddly and happily answered, “With Nayru as my witness!”

Only the most hesitant groan could follow Rowark’s enthusiasm, “Alright, fall in then.”

Rowark put on his golden helmet and walked up to the crowd of other volunteers while Sir Triss walked up to the small dais in the center of the spacious foyer. Meanwhile, several other soldiers not wearing armor were quickly running back and forth, carrying buckets and stacking them behind the majestic knight.

“Listen up men, I’m your commanding knight for this urgent sortie. Thank you for volunteering on such short notice. We’re on fire fighting duty tonight, so we cannot afford to waste any time. No weaponry will be needed. Your orders are to grab an empty bucket and congregate with the fire brigade at the intersection of Nayru and Bilbury!” So many technical terms spat out made Miro Miro’s head spin. “Move out!”

Those two words cued all the golden soldiers to frantically scuttle past the golden haired iron sentinel and pluck a wooden pail from the many stacked in neat piles. Once Rowark yanked one out, he hurried to follow his fellow volunteers out the door, and Miro Miro darted after him just as hurriedly.

It felt like Rowark was following a trail of soldiers, each one trusting the one in front to get to the destination. Following the paths on the street level made Miro Miro realize how uneven the ground was, as if the entire city was built on a gigantic rolling hill. And if the barracks’ hallways weren’t dizzying enough, the streets cutting through the city blocks were dense, monstrous forests of Hylian-made townhouses. The paving stones and sizes of the roads traversed were as varied as the architecture of each building. After what felt like hours, Miro Miro and Rowark began to smell the smoke before seeing it.

By the time Rowark and the rest of the golden troop had arrived at the fire, half the block was filled with bystanders watching the theater of events unfold. The massive flames illuminated the entire intersection and was spread out across three different buildings across the city block. Between the bystanders and the fire were the brave men and women chucking water from their buckets into the inferno.

The first watchman to reach the scene yelled out to the rest of the group, “We got two unconscious here! Let’s get them out of here!” Three volunteers descended from the sea of gold to drag the two men lying on the ground away from the fire. Miro Miro could not help but notice the difference between Rowark’s armor and the unconscious ones’, which had small metal links, hundreds of them, chained together to make something resembling a long shirt and a sleeveless black and blue coat with an insignia of a spear facing northeast. Their bodies were finally left by the bystanders.

Finally, one of the fire fighters, a portly man wearing a red uniform and a bushy mustache, approached the leaderless group of soldiers. “Which one of you is in charge?”

Each soldier turned towards one another with no answer for the man. “I am,” rang out a voice in back. The soldiers parted a way for their commanding officer to address the fire fighter, “Sir Triss, commanding knight of the fifth volunteer battalion.”

“Tomas Mason, brigadier of this lot, but I guess you’re the authority in charge now. The nearest water tower is three blocks north west of here and the nearest well is two blocks south. Direct us wherever you need us.”

“We must stop the fire from spreading at all costs. Assemble your men by the nearest water sources and keep my men supplied. We’ll take care of the rest,” replied the knight. Once the brigadier left, Sir Triss faced his own men and began barking out his orders, “We will divide our forces in two and focus our efforts at either end of the fire. Sonja, you take the half on the left and stop the fire from spreading further east. Nooth, you lead the other half and head south! You five,” his gauntlet pointing far away from Rowark, “you’re on me. We’re going to focus on the front and mount a rescue.”

The soldiers broke into their groups, Rowark joining the group that headed south. The golden soldiers briskly jogged past the red fire fighters, and soon supply chains were established all throughout the streets. The fire fighters drew water from the well and the water tower and then passed the buckets down the line before dropping them off in front of the burning street corner. Then the soldiers picked up the full buckets from the communal source and dumped the contents into the flames before delivering the empty ones back to the water source.

The first few attempts were met with futility. The fire hissed at the feeble attempts to quell its ravishing hunger, but after several more bucket-fulls of water, it seemed like their efforts were finally paying off. Little by little, the flames and the heat retreated back into the smoldering store front. The lessening of the heat felt relieving to all.

“Stop what you’re doing!”

All eyes turned to see a bald knight wearing a darker shade of steel armor followed by two shorter but equally well armed knights behind him, followed by an enormous bevy of soldiers behind them. Their numbers, and the forest of spears held by an enemy armed to the teeth, ready for a fight, heavily outnumbered the thirty or so unarmed watchmen.

Sir Baldy, Miro Miro dubbed him, had a scar on his right cheek running down to his neck, a gap in between his two front teeth, and an angry expression on his face that frightened her. She couldn’t tell whether this situation necessitated the violent look on his face or he was always seriously scowling; the scars all over his face and especially the giant one running along his neck only intensified his demeanor. Judging from the heavy wrinkles all over his face, she guessed this man was around forty years old. Sir Triss looked majestic and noble with his shiny armor, but Sir Baldy, standing tall above everybody else, just looked mean.

“The situation is under control. My men are cooperating with the fire brigade and handling it,” said Sir Triss as calmly as he could, clearly not trying to provoke the company in front of him.

But his words of calm did little to change Sir Baldy’s expression. Maybe he was born with a permanent scowl on his face. His deep voice had a roughness that matched that of his facial expression, “This is Mister Praetonmore’s estate, and therefore not under your jurisdiction.”

“This fire threatens the safety of the public. I am fully authorized by the Crown to act accordingly,” Sir Triss fired back ferociously like a possessive animal protecting his territory.

“And I am fully authorized to protect my liege’s interests. Any interference with our work will be considered an act of aggression against Mister Praetonmore and his allies, and if it comes to that we will be fully authorized by the ruling party to dispatch with you and your men as we please.” He glared threateningly at Sir Triss, “Is that understood, sergeant?”

The word “sarjent” clearly hit a nerve for Sir Triss stepped closer defensively, “We are representatives of the Queen! An assault on us is an assault on Her! Are you truly foolish enough to threaten Her Majesty’s soldiers?”

The bald knight leaned in to sneer with the might of a small army behind him, “I am certainly not so foolish as to arm my men with pails.”

“What is foolish is treating the streets for common folk as a battlefield!”

“And that’s why I’m a real knight, and you’re just a sergeant of the Throne.” Sir Baldy was so tall that the tip of his bald head was still higher than the tip of any helmet. Leaning over Sir Triss aggressively, he mumbled softly, “Think about your men before you try anything stupid.”

Confident that he would encounter no more resistance, it was Sir Baldy’s time to issue new orders, “All right men, grab these pails and focus water on the blacksmith! You three, assist with water transport!” Their chainmail shirts rattled and rang in tempo as the men carried out their orders. “Oh, and sergeant? Thank you for supplying the pails,” Sir Baldy looked like the type of man to add insult to injury.

“Are you out of your mind!?” snapped the unrelenting Sir Triss, even if his urgency and violent hand expressions fell upon deaf ears, “If the fire is not contained at either end, it’s going to spread!”

“My liege paid a lot of money to set up this residence, and it is my duty to protect my liege’s interests.”

“You’re going to prioritize the wellbeing of your liege’s estate over the wellbeing of the public?”

“The public be damned!” Sir Baldy blared loudly to Sir Triss a fire brigade that was watching the debate unfold, “What are you waiting for? Get back to work!”

Tomas stepped forth, “Sorry Sir, but you’re not a part of the chain of command. The fire brigade is a _public_ department, paid for by the Crown.”

“Listen here!” Sir Baldy roared in return and met the equally masculine man with a firm, metal grip on the collar, “I’ll have you gutted for your insolence you hear me? You are nothing but a-” The rest of the words were too unpleasant for Miro Miro to listen to, so she tuned out the rough and gruff voice out as much as possible. Still, it was hard to watch the poor fire man stoically react to a frightening knight go on about his low birth status, low quality of character, and low prospects for his family with the frequent death threat thrown in there as well.

Only one man was finally able to step up and stop the madness. “That’s enough!” Rowark’s voice rang out from the silent crowd. All heads turned towards him, and Miro Miro indirectly felt all their stares at him. But the most intimidating gaze came from Sir Baldy. Rowark was suddenly scared silent, now that the spotlight was on him.

The teeth in the ugly leader’s mouth gritted in anger, “What did you just say?”

Rowark took a deep breath to keep himself together. “Fire brigadier,” Rowark’s composure stayed true in the face of Sir Baldy, “Drop off the water from the tower on the intersection of Nayru and Saria! Drop off the water from the well over here by the armorer!”

Sir Baldy fired back, “Who do you think you are you runt?”

But as soon as the knight let go of the fire brigadier, the short man stood as straight and tall as possible and gave him the military salute, “Yes Sir!” before his thick legs carried him as fast they could north.

An incredibly large silhouetted person move inside the blazing blacksmith. A loud and thundering groan boomed from within, and the sound continued echoing down the street. What could possibly make such noise? To answer her question, a large hand emerged from the door and gripped the side of the doorway, pulling forth a towering Goron, a being which was almost half a head taller than Sir Baldy. His other arm covered his cone shaped head as he walked forth into the outside and coughed the smoky air out from his lungs.

Gorons were the stuff of legends and stories in the forest. These people lived far away in the mountains and were said to be famous craftsmen. The stories and tales were enough to identify the Goron as such, but even with all the tales and bonfire stories she had heard over the years, seeing the large creature step forth left her awestruck. He had small, beady black eyes, light brown skin and muscles that looked like a combination of flesh and rock, white stone-like hair that grew from his the top of his head down his back, a healthy looking belly, and peculiarly short and skinny legs to support all that weight.

A second Goron stepped forth from the fiery blaze, unscathed by the flames like the other, coughing heavily. He looked almost identical to the first one, save for the style of hair. “Brother, are you okay?” said the one dragging behind as he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Yes, I am. Are you?” replied the other. They turned around and watched the blazing inferno engulf their home.

“No.” His deep, solemn voice quietly vibrated in everyone’s hearts. “No! Noo! NOOO!!” he shrieked with helpless fury into the starry, summer night. The anguished cry resonated throughout the market in all the bystanders’ eardrums. “When will we finally be safe!?”

“Brother, it’s okay,” stony arms wrapped around the weeping Goron, who even had water tears trickle from his rocky eyes. “We are Gorons. Fire does not bend us or change who we are.”

“I don’t give a damn about the fire! I am tired of running!” Every Hylian man and woman steered very clear of the powerful Goron’s wrath, “I am tired of fearing for my life! I am tired of believing in their silly Goddesses!”

His brother embraced him once again, “We believed in their Goddesses so we could have a new identity and start a new life.”

Furiously, the enraged Goron turned around, and his eyes fixated on Sir Baldy. “You!” the Goron found his outlet for his anger as his voice shifted from powerless anguish to hateful blame, “Your Mister guaranteed us safety and security! Is this what his promises look like?”

“Turek-Zawk, this is all most unfortunate and unforgivable! A-a-and,” Sir Baldy’s uncharacteristic stutter caught her off guard, “I assure you Mister Praetonmore will take care of everything for you.” The viciousness Sir Baldy once had when speaking to the Rowark’s commander disappeared without subtly as soon as he began talking to the Gorons. Miro Miro guessed it was because Turek-Zawk made him, and everyone else for that matter, look like a cucco, but as Miro Miro had learned, there was always more to the story in Hyrule Castle City. Sir Baldy continued pampering, “We will find out who did this, bring him to justice, and rebuild your esteemed brand. I promise.”

Something about Sir Baldy’s tone of voice bothered her; the words spoken felt like empty air coming out of his mouth. It reminded of the way the shopkeeper who tried to kidnap her earlier said, “I’m not gonna ‘urt ya.” Kokiri would frequently fib, but they were normally pretty terrible fibbers due to their innocent nature. “Psh, he doesn’t care,” Rowark remarked quietly, as if reading Miro Miro’s mind. “None of this is his problem.”

“Somebody help us!” From the third floor of the tailor side of the building, a man stuck his head out the only only window and waved his whole arm. All eyes were drawn to him, and then they fell onto the fire burning door that was the only entrance, hitting the second story on its ascent.

A knight with red armor standing next to Sir Baldy turned to him, “Should we send someone up there to rescue him?”

“All efforts are to be focused on putting out the blacksmith fire.” He turned around to give the knight an icy glare, the type of glare that silenced any further protests against his orders.

Miro Miro, Rowark, and the rest of his company watched in disbelief as Sir Baldy’s soldiers, ignoring the cries for help, continued dumping water into the forge. The only ones satisfied with the decision were Sir Baldy and the Gorons, who only seemed to be concerned with their forge. From the furrowed look on his face, Sir Triss debated intervention intensely yet silently, while his men were quietly discussing amongst themselves whether they should help or not. Miro Miro looked down and saw Rowark clenching his fists.

“Farore, grant me courage,” he quietly whispered before he bolted towards the tailor.

“What are you doing?” Miro Miro screamed as she followed him.

The first kick did not move the fiery door, but the second kick sent the thick obstacle crashing down. Rowark turned toward Miro Miro, “Someone has to rescue him! Don’t follow me!”

It was then Sir Triss realized what Rowark was attempting to do, “Wait! STOP! ROWAAARRK!”

Against Rowark’s wishes, Miro Miro bravely plunged into the raging flames to follow him. Thanks to firefighting efforts, much of the fires on the first floor were reduced to various small embers burning small patches on the floor. However, that left a lot of smoke, and Rowark’s lungs and eyes immediately began to feel the effects. He reached around for his cape to cover his mouth and nose, but the black smoke stung his eyes. Fire normally did not produce black smoke, she thought. Since her eyes had been exposed to many new things within Castle Town, she thought little of the odd color.

She had bigger things to worry about. Seeing Rowark blindly search for the stairs, she flew to the stairs leading to the floor up. “Rowark! Follow my voice to the stairs! Hurry!” she called out to him. Rowark looked up and started stumbling in her direction. Grabbing a hold of the handrail, he quickly launched himself up the steps onto the second floor.

The fire consuming the staircase up to the third floor prevented him from climbing up any further. “Help! We’re up here!” Rowark’s eyes darted for the source of the man’s voice and found a weasel sized hole in the ceiling, with no way up. When he looked through, he saw a frail father, his wife, and their auburn haired young daughter looking back down at him.

Rowark called out to them, “I’ll catch you on your way down!”

“Go ahead,” said the father.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” replied his daughter in the midst of her crying, understandably so since she was beset by danger everywhere.

“It’s okay, Daddy and Mommy will be right behind you. Okay, she’s coming down!” The girl, wearing a long, white nightgown, hesitantly planted her feet on the edge of the hole and crouched down.

Despite the direness of the situation everybody was in, the girl could not bring herself to remove her feet from the edge and simply dropping down, making the process all the more painstakingly slow. A loud creak coming from the top floor stopped everyone’s breathing for a second. Then the crashing sound came. The force of the roof’s collapse caused the girl to lose her grip and fall forward, “EEEEk!”

Into a ready Rowark, who outstretched his arms and caught her, “I gotcha!”

The girl, Miro Miro, and Rowark looked back up at the hole and saw nothing but the burning remains of the roof covering the hole in the ceiling. “Mommy! Daddy! Nooo!” the girl screamed in grief, extending her hands upwards as if trying to grasping the remains of her parents with futility. A part of the ceiling collapsed underneath the weight of the roof; there was no time to waste. “Nooo! Go baaack!!”

Throwing the sobbing girl over his shoulders, Rowark started for his way back to the stairs. He did not set her back down until they reached outside. He kneeled in front of the girl and brushed her long, chestnut colored hair, “Hey, are you okay?”

Of course, it was a silly question to ask a young girl, probably no older than thirteen, who had just lost her parents. The girl wrapped her arms around Rowark and embraced him tightly while crying uncontrollably into his shoulder pauldron, speechless to what she witnessed. Rowark’s face bore guilt. But if the girl was not there, Miro Miro would have told him that he did all he could. She would have praised him for being the first person to be brave enough to do the right thing. She would have commended him for having a moral code that was above all the petty politics. However, she could not bring herself to say these things in front of an orphan grieving for her lost parents. Telling Rowark that he did all he could do meant the girl would hear that his best efforts meant the death of her parents, that he was the only one who cared enough to save her and her parents, that she was standing amidst a crowd of bystanders and cowards.

“I'm gonna find the person who did this,” he whispered into her ear. His whisper was quiet but full of conviction, “I promise I will get justice for you.”

A rescue party emerged from the armorer carrying two unconscious men. All of the town guards ran to their aid, while all the soldiers continued throwing water into the inferno. The speedy and efficient movement of water meant constant supply to the front line and throwing water at any flame that dared to encroach upon the fire fighters.

She noticed that Sir Baldy was absent from all the firefighting. Instead, he was hunched over, talking in a hushed voice to one of the guards sitting against the wall. Out of curiosity, she slowly flew closer to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“It was kid, eh?” Sir Baldy nodded. His hand reached around and grabbed onto the hilt of a weapon sitting on his lower back, “What did he look like?”

She could barely hear the guard whisper back, “He had scars.”

“Where?”

“Lots on his face. A wicked one… on his cheek.”

“Thankee.” Quicker than a cat pouncing on a mouse, Sir Baldy drew a knife from its hilt. The sickening sound of steel entering flesh froze Miro Miro’s blood, almost as effectively as the flashing Deku nut did. “For your service,” said Sir Baldy. Watching a goat die was one matter. Watching the man die with a shocked and painful expression was unbearable. Right before she turned away, she saw his eyes opened wide as he fought to cling to life, and when she turned back around, she saw the same expression, except without life, drained from his body in a matter of heartbeats.

“No, please Sir Rhychester, spare me,” pleaded the other soldier as he crawled away from the heartless knight and the fresh new corpse.  With tears streaming down his face, he crawled toward Sir Triss, “Please sir, save me, I got a boy, he needs a father. I don’t wanna die!”

Sir Triss stayed silent. Sir Baldy stood up and drew his sword. The soldier looked up to Sir Triss, even wrapped his arms around his leg, hoping this man would be his salvation and savior from the wrath of Sir Baldy. Miro Miro saw in Sir Triss’ face that he wanted to be that savior. He locked his eyes with the evil knight as if trying to fight him back with his glare. But he took too long to decide.

Sir Baldy raised his blade and then plunged the tip into his own soldier’s back, without breaking his glare at Sir Triss. Then for good measure, he twisted the blade and made a sound that almost made Miro Miro faint right then and there.

Instead, she buried herself in Rowark’s armor and cried privately to herself. “Make it stop Rowark, please. No more. I don’t want to see any more people die. Please, Rowark.”

“Throw these two into the fire,” said the evil brute. Watching this man end the story of two perfectly sentient beings had changed Miro Miro’s entire perspective of him. When she peeked over his shoulder pauldrons, all of Sir Baldy’s men quietly looked at the dead bodies. “When I say protect this property with your life!” Sir Baldy sheathed his bloodied sword, “THIS is what I mean! Now get back to work!” Dutifully, the other two knights stripped the carcasses down to the naked skin before carrying each by the wrists and ankles and throwing them into the raging inferno inside the armorer.

Sir Triss had a less than pleasant look on his face when he finally confronted his own soldier. “You! IMBECILE!”

“I wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing! I had to!”

“Shut up I know! Just- Gah, you reckless fool!” Sir Triss seemed to have been at a loss for words all night but he extended his finger straight down the road, “Leave the girl with me, and go home. You’re dismissed.” Wow, so that was the thanks that Rowark received for saving a girl’s life.

With a sigh, Rowark took one last good look at the blazing fire, which was still growing towards the south. From afar, the soldiers on different sides all looked like they were working together. Miro Miro knew better now. Rowark then turned around and began the long, quiet walk home.


	10. Two Sides of a Coin

The fires that burned the field all around him matched the fire that was in Link ‘s soul, the one he had to embrace in order to survive. In front, a fierce, rugged guard, armed rudimentary chainmail, leather pads and boots, and a short spear aimed at Link, slowly closed the distance. Fear was long gone from Link’s mentality as he stubbornly marched towards certain death. The man was now the first of many obstacles to survival, and he was sure to best the child standing in front of him. Link, wearing only a tunic and ragged pants, waved a burning fence post back and forth to maintain distance between himself and his full grown opponent.

Waving his makeshift torch was of no use; the longer, pointier spear ultimately decided the distance between the combatants. With each of the weapon’s jabs, Link had to jump backwards, creating a window of opportunity for the spearman to quickly close the distance between them. Link had to steel himself to resist the urge to jump back whenever the spear’s thrusts came. He was so focused on anticipating when and where the tip would strike that when the attacker thrusted his weapon forward, Link jumped back, but only then realized that he was too close to the raging field of fire behind him. And while Link’s mind raced and panicked, the next spear thrust came in contact with the right side of his hip, striking muscle and bone.

The pain was immense, but the attack missed, the speartip grazing past, and gave him the opportunity to charge forward. There was no time for pain. When the spear withdrew, Link’s lunge forward took the spearman aback. Link wildly swung his torch at him, forcing him back to avoid the flame at the end, but kept his feet moving forth. The spearman backpedaled from Link’s aggression, but his feet could not keep up with his backwards momentum.

The boy triumphantly stood over his frightened enemy. Lips were mouthing words, but no sound came forth. Link could tell he was begging mercy. The pleas of mercy were pointless. The fires burning the fields closed in on the two rapidly. Link smiled, knowing that the last thing he would do before the flames consumed them was killing his tormentor. And then he plunged his torch downwards into the man’s face.

Link jolted awake in a bed. How? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep to the smell of dung penetrating his crooked and beaten nose.

He sat up straight and looked around, surveying his surroundings. The dark, shanty room of probably a hovel stuck behind a house or something was furnished with nothing more than a dresser, a candlelight on a low table, chairs, and the bed he laid in. The stink of smoke on his clothing dominated his sense of smell, and his awakening stirred a noise. Next to the stink of smoke was the stench of mold seeping from the old, wooden walls.

Of course, the first thing Link should have seen was the baby faced girl with a boy’s haircut sitting attentively at his side. “Mum!” she called out, piercing Link’s eardrums, “He’s awake!”

Link groaned from the sudden noise filling his ears, “Wh-where am I?”

The girl’s freckled cheeks and small mouth curled into a hospitable smile, “You’re at me home! Me and me mum found ye asleep outside right by our manure pile.” She could have been no older than thirteen.

“And you brought me in?”

“Well,” she began, but she was cut off when the door into the bedroom opened.

A bearded man with silver, well groomed hair and a tall gait stepped into the room. He smiled at the girl, “Thank you, Woaphie. Go and see your mother.” He looked at Link with no emotion, sighed, and then walked to the window, looking out the very early morning view. The faint, blue morning light shining through the sole window of the room highlighted the blue color of his cape and dulled the redness of his robe, and the colorful jewels hanging on his golden chain reflected light all over the walls.

Of course, Link’s eyes flashed to sword hanging on the belt. The sword and its scabbard always revealed much about the owner, even if they were not his originally. Judging by the length and width of the scabbard, the sword was meant for civilian use. The metal disk at the end of the hilt held a spherically cut ruby, a symbol of power, but the cross guard flamboyantly swirled around the hilt and the blade like a flower, a symbol of beauty. A gilded scabbard suggested this sword was most likely only used for ceremonies. It was the long knife with the plain leather sheath and worn out wrappings on the hilt that was used for killing.

“Perhaps you should think twice before you decide to utilize such drastic means for such a simple task,” his chastising tone was, without a doubt, exactly what Link expected to hear from the mouth of Nayru’s Judge.

“Next time leave more instructions,” was Link’s response.

“It’s not me Lord Praetonmore and the Zellink Alliance will be hunting for,” the truth bit hard into Link’s leg, which was still broken and very much in pain, but then he noticed the wooden stick splinted onto his leg and held together with some very bloodied wrappings, and a bandaged sling held Link’s pained arm in place.

Link groaned from the slight movement, “You could have warned me that the blacksmith was connected to the Zellinks.”

“I needed to leave as little information as possible. Safety reasons.”

The pain was not nearly as bad as he last remembered it, but there were still very unnecessary reminders of his wounded limbs. “How did you know I was here?”

“A little bird told me,” one of his lackeys was sent, “And that little bird also convinced the wonderful family in this household to hide you.” Instantly, Link felt suspicious.

Sir Mawar had retired out of the Royal Guard, her Majesty’s personal bodyguard detail, for many years now, but he enjoyed keeping the title if only to remind him, and perhaps others, of his service to the Throne. A veteran knight looked better in the eyes of the people than a power hungry politician, but anyone who truly worked with him knew that he was both. Link’s only form of leverage was testimony of very questionable decisions Sir Mawar had made in the pursuit of justice. Unfortunately, death was an easy solution to this problem, and Link was currently at Sir Mawar’s mercy. Link pressed, “You went out of your way to sweep me off the streets, probably before anyone got a good look at me.”

“News about the fire spread quickly, so yes, I dispatched someone to survey the area, and that’s where they found you cuddling next to a large mound of manure. She had to rescue you before Sir Rhychester led his men through the alleys to search for you.”

Link looked down and realized he his shirt and pants were changed, although they felt a bit large on him. He supposed the rank of smoke smelled better than the rank of dung anyday.

“After working with you for the past few years, I know you better than to just save anyone’s life for the sake of charity.”

The old man whipped his head around, “I have never seen anyone so ungrateful for having their life saved!”

Link returned the glare with a cold and fierce stare of his own, “You didn’t save my life, you saved the chain to my life!”

Sir Mawar sighed and returned his gaze out the window again, “Hmph, you’re free to live as you may, just not as a bounty hunter for the next ten years. Or, you can continue following my instructions as you are told until I decide to give you the antidote.”

Link narrowed his eyes at the euphemistic twist of words. “What instructions?” Link asked out of curiosity.

The old man smirked. All the white hair on his face could not hide his crooked scar drawn on the left side of his cheek. He began to walk back the same way he came in and then stopped at the doorway before turning to look directly into Link’s eyes, “In due time, you will be notified of the task. The revelation of my information must adhere to a strict schedule. In the meantime, I suggest you lay back, relax and let your body heal. I have instructed the wonderful family here to shelter you and feed you until such time comes.”

Link grumbled, “So then why did you come see me?”

“I’m sure you were going to have questions about how you got here. I also came by to tell you to take better care of yourself,” as if years of bounty hunting could not tell Link how to take care better of himself; and yet here he was, bedridden by a broken leg and only too lucky to be alive, and not rotting with a noose around his neck. There were days Link wanted nothing more than to strangle Sir Mawar. This was one of them.

Sir Mawar was an interesting man with an interesting history to say the least. The fact that he once served as one of the Queen’s royal guards was no secret. The confidential missions and bounties given by the man were clearly benefitting the throne, but what consisted of his network of spies was nothing more than a conglomerate of self-serving thieves, ambiguously moral swords for hire, and some of the worst gang lords. By day, he would don his robes of justice and his title of Nayru’s Judge and rain justice down on the criminal scum. By night, he would employ the very people he swore to protect the realm from.

Link never bothered to ask why. He received a job, to kill or kidnap someone usually, and then received money for each head. The more politics got involved the more problems occurred during the job, so Link avoided knowing as much as possible. Then he supposed knowing the politics alone was the reason why Sir Mawar could control the whole city from behind a desk, and not knowing was why Link was just a Link. The secret was in Sir Mawar’s ability to empathize; in Link’s case, the old man knew Link wanted, needed really, food and shelter most.

Sir Mawar parted with a his last reminder, “You are always free to hide from the Zellinks here, where I can find you, or you can hide out there, where the Zellinks can certainly find you.” There was no way in Din’s Hearth Link was going to stay here. Link had been chained like this and ordered around under penalty of death way too many times to not understand how being a slave worked.

Link would rather deal with the Zellinks. “No thanks to you!” he fired back at him, but the mysterious man was gone, and the door had already closed behind him before the last sentence was finished, “Tch, dunghole.”

The last time Link had seen Sir Mawar in person had to have been over a year ago. Memories in his brain could only stretch back about a year, for the most part. So many answers to his questions about his past life had faded into irrelevance. How old was he? Who were his parents? The only question he could answer with descriptive detail was how he received each scar.

He suddenly checked his left hand, and to his relief, the fortnight old bandage wrapping was left untouched. No sense in opening that bandage and reliving that horrific memory. He shuddered thinking about the nightmares his cursed scar, the first one, gave him. There was only the now, and right now, Link needed to find a way out of Sir Mawar’s grasp. The negative sentiments about his employer translated into different ideas plotted in his mind, but in order for Link to do anything stupid like that, he needed to heal, and fast. And then he needed to move somewhere else. Somehow, he needed to snag a…

The door violently flew open, the same young girl wearing her night gown waved her hand and danced her way inside with clumsy, flat feet as she introduced herself, “Hiiii! My name is Woaphelia, but everyone calls me Woaphie! What’s your name?”

The last thing Link wanted to do was talk to her. “Link,” he replied with the generic no name.

“Wow! Me mum told me not to talk to Links, but she told me I can talk to you!” Woaphie lifted her hands and hopped on one foot, before losing her balance and tumbling softly on the floor. Then, with renewed energy, she kicked herself back up onto her feet and struck a far reaching pose, “So we’re gonna be friends whether you like it or not!”

Link groaned loudly. Today was going to suck. Again.


	11. The Castle

“Rowark,” Sir Triss awoke Rowark with a firm grip on the shoulder. Miro Miro wasn't sure how long she slept, it could not have been more than a couple of hours. The events of the previous night were so stressful that sleep seemed like a hopeful wish.

Rowark and Miro Miro kept their eyes open most of the whole night. Every time they were closed, the memory of the fire, the roof collapsing on the girl’s parents, and the brutal murder of the two guards would become all too vivid for comfort. So much had happened in one day. So many had died in one night. The great inferno claimed the lives of five and turned one girl into an orphan. The tears and grief were burned into their minds. They could still feel the raging heat of the fire and smell the smoke. Miro Miro wanted to talk about the night as she and Rowark lay awake, but any attempts to communicate was met with silence.

“We have to talk about what happened last night,” the knight sighed. Miro Miro did not like the sound of the word “talk” at all. He continued, “but first I need you to accompany me to a meeting with the Queen.”

Rowark perked up immediately, “Oh, um, yes Sir. Let me get dressed in something more appropriate.” The tired teenager rubbed his eyes together and clearly wanted to spend his day off sleeping, but the morning sun shining through the east facing window had awoken him to the point of no return.

Sir Triss certainly dressed like he was ready to meet the most powerful person in all of Hyrule.  A fancy, red doublet and fancy beige breeches looked very foreign and impractical for the summer heat. The handsome smile on the knight’s face almost melted Miro Miro’s heart, “Thank you, as always, for your blessed attitude. And don’t worry about attending the meeting in formal dress, since we have to be there in less than ten minutes.”

That last sentence forced Rowark’s eyes wide open, and he hopped off his top bunk before digging through the footlocker at the base of his bed, retrieving, and finally slipping on his black boots, white pants, and a blue, crew cut tunic. It could not have taken Rowark more than half a minute to get dressed.

“Ready?” Sir Triss had his hand on the dorm room door and was in the midst of opening the door by the time Rowark finished smoothing out the wrinkles of his tunic.

The young lad nodded in silence and followed the knight through the dark hallways, untouched by the morning rays of sunlight. Where they walked, only the torchlight led the way.

Sir Triss lowered his voice into a hush as he kept up with his brisk pace, “Alright, this is between you and me, before we get to the meeting.”

Rowark gulped, “What is it?”

“I’m… glad. You did something great when I couldn’t,” the knight deeply sighed, relieving himself from that confession. “But that doesn’t mean I’m still not mad at you, though!”

“Wh- why?” asked Rowark, taken aback by the sudden change in tone.

The knight whipped his face sternly around, his long, straight golden hair waving behind him, “Are you joking me!? Do you know what was the first thing that came to my mind when I first saw that house go down?”

Rowark kept up the pace in silence.

Then without warning, Sir Triss roared in his face, “HOW AM I GOING TO EXPLAIN THIS TO ALEXA?”

There was no answer to the rhetorical question except… “I’m sorry,” Rowark squeaked out as his gaze fell to the floor.

“You’re damned right you’re sorry!” the mean look on Sir Triss’ face also held sadness behind his blue eyes, a sadness that Miro Miro instantly recalled from many decades past, when she used to look after her companion. “Look, I care deeply about you, you’re like my own little brother, not just because of Alexa, but because you truly are one of a noble few, and this realm needs more men like you.”

“Oh stop,” Rowark quietly muttered.

“Ever modest, as always,” said the knight with a smile. The further the men walked down the hall, the darker the hallways seemed to get. It was hard to believe that it was morning outside. “Listen, the realm needs you. Alexa needs you. We need you to serve the crown, but more importantly, we need you alive to do so.”

By the time Rowark lifted his head to meet Sir Triss’ friendly smile back, they had reached a doorway leading to a wooden tower stuck inside a cave… “Where are we?” Miro Miro asked her companion.

Both turned their heads toward her, and it was then Miro Miro had awkwardly realized that Rowark had never properly introduced her to his friend, and thankfully Rowark felt the awkwardness with her, “Oh um, Sir, this is Miro Miro, she is the one who saved me from the forest and also helped me rescue the girl last night.”

The man’s face first beheld surprise, “Oh!” and then turned into a deeply respectful smile, “Sir Triss Yeoman, knight of the fifth volunteer company. Honored to meet you!”

“And we are at the elevator, to answer your question,” chimed in Rowark.

“Eluhvater? What’s that?” she asked before suddenly feeling stupid for asking the question, “I’m sorry Sir Triss, I have never been to the city before, so I don’t know what anything here is!”

“After saving Rowark’s life, I’ll gladly explain anything to you,” was the knight’s warm, chivalrous answer. He began walking toward the entrance, which had two men standing by on duty. “This elevator will take us straight up to the castle. ‘Tis easier to show you how it works than to tell you what it is.”

The knight led the way and waved to the two men sitting unamused, “Top of the mornin to ya!”

The two immediately erected themselves straight and gave Sir Triss a salute, right arm raised, elbow bent, and hand facing downward, like he was shielding his right eye from the sun. Such an odd gesture. “Sir!” they simultaneously said.

“At ease men,” said Sir Triss who returned the salute, cuing the guards to lower their hands but still stay erect and unmoving, “I got an urgent meeting with the Queen, and I’m supposed to be there yesterday.”

“Yes sir!” they simultaneously said again. Miro Miro watched in awe as the two men scrambled to work, seemingly knowing what to do given all the knight had to do was explain his circumstance. One opened the door and the other readied the lever on a large, infinitely complex piece of machinery. Once Rowark and Sir Triss were standing in the middle of the platform, the lever puller signaled he was ready.

As soon as the lever was pulled downward, a thunderous click erupted the from beneath Rowark’s feet and a mechanical hum flowed out of the machine. The sound was just a warning that the platform was going to rise, something that caught Miro Miro completely off guard. The ground and the two men standing on it began to slowly rise. Miro Miro supposed that the term “elevator” was appropriate to describe the machine’s one job.

The ride up felt eery for the most part. Traveling through mostly darkness, with some strategically placed torches, made the trip upward feel longer than it actually was, but eventually, sunlight began to bleed onto the platform surface. Another loud, metallic click stopped the platform in place, and Miro Miro was now looking at a room bathed in the warm, summer sun.

Miro Miro was now looking at smoothly cut stone walls; though the room enclosure was small, the tall ceiling made the room feel more spacious than it really was. Two men, like before, greeted the knight with salutes as Rowark opened the elevator gate. Same as before, Sir Triss returned the salute to his men, “At ease men.” Just like before, the men lowered their arm, but still stood upright statically as Rowark and Sir Triss walked past. Past the threshold was a hallway well lit by the many windows lining the walls and the white stones reflecting the sunlight, unlike the drabby, dark hallways of the barracks. A blue carpet stretched underneath Rowark’s feet to both ends of the hall, giving anyone traversing across a regal invitation. So if the dark place before was the barracks, then, was Miro Miro in the castle?

As soon as the three reached the end of the long hallway, the next room answered the question for her.

The grandeur of the foyer was enough to make Miro Miro stare in awe. Two stairwells flanking the two story entryway led up to the second level. A door just as large as the main entrance was wide open in front of them, inviting whoever wished to request audience with the Queen. Stained glass windows brought vibrant colors to the drab colored walls, but this one was the most interesting because it seemed like they were supposed to align with the triforce engraving on the ground. Various torch stands in the shape of a sword were placed in strategic locations to produce the most light at night, and a gigantic chandelier hung over the foyer.

The floor consisted of gray and white tiling all throughout the castle, except for the blue tiles that formed a path leading to the throne. From a distance, the throne looked like a small chair. But as the three walked into the throne room and closer to the chair, Miro Miro saw that the chair was anything but small. First, she was amazed by the sheer size of the throne room. It was easily twice the size of the foyer, if not larger. The throne room had a second level on either side of the room to fit additional audience members. As for the throne, it was made of a darker looking wood, and the sheer size almost made it seem like it was meant to seat a large Goron. It had red cushions, and it had a finishing touch of the triforce carved on the top. Anyone sitting on that throne could look regal despite their upbringing; the two fully armored knights standing in front of the throne sent a clear message to anyone who thought sitting in the Queen’s throne was a good idea.

They veered to the left of the throne and entered a door behind the seat. Weaving through hallways, busy castle servants, and guards, Miro Miro was unsure of their location and got turned around due to the walking. The spiral staircase only furthered the dizzying experience. But no matter how lost she felt in the castle, it could not compare to being lost in the Lost Woods. At least the castle had structure, and there were only so many rooms and so much space in the Hylian wonder. She figured that all she had to do was stay by Rowark’s side. His warm personality and bright mannerisms were enough to make Miro Miro feel safe in the gigantic stone maze.

Sir Triss stopped in front of a door and opened it. A rush of loud noises in the form of a back and forth argument erupted into the narrow hall space. Even with Rowark at her side, Miro Miro’s sense of wonderment quickly turned into anxiety.

“He absolutely made the right decision! I invested enough for the Zawk brothers to raise an army!” shouted an old man wearing a long, blue robe and a blue surcoat over. His long chain wrapped around his neck, and a small, golden triangle uniting the two ends of the chain extended down to his belly. Four men accompanied the old man, one of them being the infamous Sir Baldy. This time, he was wearing a tight fit tunic and breeches, highlighting his large yet chiseled muscles. Even though he was not wearing any armor, he still looked just as intimidating as before. He and Sir Triss shared an uncomfortable glare.

Across the large table from Sir Baldy was a middle aged woman sitting passively at the head. The ornate crown, adorned with a big red jewel, on her head proudly displayed her regal status. She wore a simple, pink top with white sleeves, and her white skirt reached down to her ankles. The beautiful jewelry adorned on her clothing may not have been as big as the crown’s jewel, but the morning light streaking through the eastern window reflected powerful colors throughout the room. The inconsistent wrinkles on her face showed that she was either aging aggressively or under heavy stress, though the graying of what was once luscious blonde hair and her weary frown suggested it was the latter.

Perhaps the most distinguishing factor was her seemingly calm look and her deceptively loud voice that erupted and echoed throughout the compact space when she welcomed the newcomers, “Enough!” All stopped and gave their attention to her Highness, “Now that all parties are present, we may start. Sir Triss, can you recount for us the events that transpired last night?”

Sir Triss cleared his throat, “Certainly your majesty. The fire brigade was the first on the scene before we had arrived. Brigadier Tomas Mason was leading the team. We then cooperated to prevent the fire from spreading. And that’s when Sir Rhychester interrupted our efforts, even threatened us.”

“I beg pardon for the interruption, your majesty,” interrupted Sir Baldy, “But I-”

The Queen gave Sir Baldy a glare that could petrify Miro Miro, “You will speak when permitted.” In the face of the Queen, Sir Baldy quietly complied with gritted teeth. “Please continue.”

All eyes fell back onto Sir Triss, “So my company and I let Sir Rhychester carry on with his orders, which was to put out the fire in the blacksmith, while the fire brigade and the volunteers worked to stop the fire from spreading and mounted a brave rescue.”

“That’s a damned lie!” interjected Sir Baldy again.

“Sir Rhychester, hold it together,” Lord Praetonmore extended his hand to hold his knight back. Then he apologized to the Queen, “Please pardon him for his outburst.”

The Queen blinked, “Pardoned. Sir Rhychester, would you like to enlighten us on this lie?”

“First off, this guard,” Sir Baldy’s accusatory finger pointed straight at Rowark, “obstructed our efforts to stop the fire by directing water away from the source.”

Sir Triss fired back at him, “Rowark here contained a public hazard and was the first to mount a rescue while you and your men did nothing!”

The Queen had to intervene, “Silence!” The command filled the space in the room. “Go on, Sir.”

“I did what was asked of me,” retorted Sir Baldy without giving Sir Triss the courtesy of eye contact. “And secondly, no threats were ever used,” the words out of Sir Baldy’s never sounded more false, “I merely reminded this sergeant-"

“Sir Triss is a knight of with full honors,” the Queen sternly cut him off, “Remember that in my presence.”

“Ahem, apologies,” patience was leaving Sir Baldy by the heartbeat, “I reminded this, knight,” the way he said that word held the utmost contempt behind every breath until the last ‘t’, “that there were consequences for interfering with our work.”

“And did that consequence involve death?” asked the Queen.

“No, your highness, such words were never used.”

“Nonetheless, Sir Triss was doing his duty, which was protecting the public space. You are aware that without the efforts of the brave men and women of the volunteer force and the fire brigade, the fire would have spread to other buildings, and you would have shared some responsibility for the damage.”

“That responsibility falls solely on the scum who started the fire!” the lord fired back at her.

“I would be inclined to see more of your reasoning, but your knight here did indeed issue a threat to my men.”

Sir Rhychester let out a restrained growl, but his lord held his hand in front.

The Queen looked like she had handled worse kinds of men, “You outnumbered him and used your men’s armed presence to coerce my knight to comply with you. Your definition of a threat may differ from mine, but as Queen I will stand by my definition.” The Queen returned Sir Rhychester’s killer eyes with a killer instinct of her own, “Thankfully, no other property was damaged, so we can and should move on from this topic. Sir Rhychester, I will forgive this transgression against the throne.”

Sir Baldy bowed with a stoic look on his face, “Your mercy is graciously received, my Queen.”

“That leaves us with the issue of justice,” the Queen let that word hang in the air for a minute, “This fire left five of your tenants dead, and three families are now homeless. This criminal is obviously very dangerous, and justice needs to be harsh and swift. So I have decided to take justice into the throne’s hands.”

“This is outrageous!” Lord Praetonmore exclaimed, “This is a crime against my people, my property, and my reputation! Justice must be served by me!”

“Your emotional state is exactly why justice needs to be served by the highest court in the land. There is no telling what lengths you and your men are willing to go to achieve justice. You already damned five people to their deaths by refusing to rescue them. I cannot trust the judgement of a lord who values property over the lives of people. This is final. There is to be no interference with the throne’s investigation of this matter.”

Lord Praetonmore and his men stood in silence; they knew better than to challenge the Queen’s authority, but Miro Miro was afraid they were going to do so anyway, at least away from the Queen's watchful eyes. The lord’s hands were clenched tightly, so much that she could see the whites in his knuckles. He pointed an accusatory finger at the Queen, “You made a deal with the Zawks didn’t you?”

“I can assure your disrespectfully pointed finger that the first item on my agenda after waking was meeting with you, Lord Praetenmore,” said the Queen.

“Hmph!” Lord Praetonmore’s men escorted their frail and hunched lord out of the room.

With Lord Praetonmore gone, Miro Miro noticed the other men standing beside the Queen. Two of them, flanking the Queen and her advisor, were knights wearing some of the most beautiful armor she had seen in Hyrule so far. The armor was mostly reflective with a slightly green tint, the pauldrons almost looked like miniature shields with two spikes jutting outward, the plates themselves almost looked cumbersome and too large for practical use, red capes draped along their back, and their helmets had a piece of cloth in the back that resembled the hats that the Kokiri wore, a tribute to the late Hero of Time. They stood like statues with one hand gripping the hilt of their gigantic swords and the other one gripping a halberd, a frightening looking weapon with a long spear tip and an axe head the size of a man's face.

Standing next to the Queen was a man with short, white hair and a well-maintained beard. Miro Miro could not help but also notice the scar that stubbornly ran through his beard on his left cheek. He wore a beautifully adorned robe colored in tribute to the three goddesses; if his demeanor did not show that he belonged in the high court, his attire did.

The silver haired man started walking slowly towards the door. “It would have been nice to inform me of your decision to escalate the investigation into my hands before the meeting. Why are you so concerned with finding this culprit?” he asked as he opened the door for his liege.

The Queen stood and began following him towards the door, and everyone else subsequently followed her out. The loud clanking coming from the guards’ oversized armor forced the Queen to raise her voice, “The steward met with the Zawk brothers this morning and informed me that they will only work for the person that brings the criminal to justice.”

“Surely there must be another way to convince the Zawks to work for us,” the old man walked behind the Queen closely as she descended the spiral steps, followed by the Queen's guards and then Rowark, Miro Miro, and Sir Triss.

“There is no other way. The fire scared them out of their wits. They want protection more than they want money, and they want this criminal’s head on a stick more than they want protection.”

“If there is no other way then. There will be others trying to look for the culprit.”

Miro Miro noticed that as the party walked through the hallways and down the stairwells, all the maids, guards, and courtiers turned and bowed towards the Queen, too absorbed in the conversation to pay them any mind.

“Yes, but our investigation takes priority. We will be the first to have access to all information, all witnesses, and all locations of interest. And all the Zellinks can do is complain about it.”

“An investigation won't be necessary.”

“Oh?” the Queen's interest slowed the pace of their walk, “Something you wish to tell me?”

The old man hesitated for a few seconds before answering, “I already know who did it.”

The ends of the Queen’s curled into a less intense frown, “You never disappoint. I want him in the stocks by tomorrow.”

“Your wish is my command, my Queen.”

“For once, I can say that I am winning this war against my own people,” the cryptic statement from the Queen echoed loudly in the throne room and resonated sadly in the faces of Rowark and Sir Triss and the old stranger. She looked around the room with a confused look on her face, “I had some important business to conduct here, but my memory is failing me.”

“Um, the knighting, your highness,” Sir Triss timidly whispered. Rowark’s eyes instantly widened and darted around the room. There was no one else that joined their group, and he was the only one who was not a knight.

“Ah, yes, you’re right. Rowark!” the Queen extended her hand out toward her bodyguard, who responded by placing the hilt of his sword in her hand.

Rowark’s jaw slowly began dropping as he tried to contain his disbelief. He snapped his head to the Queen, “Y-yes, yes your highness?”

“Kneel.” Even though Rowark was clearly unused to the highest authority in the realm addressing him, he did exactly as he was commanded. But even his straight face was brimming with excitement. “Sir Triss told me of your gallantry last night. After being stranded in the Lost Woods for over a season, you rose above the call of duty on the same day of your homecoming.”

His eyes emanated with pride with every word spoken from the Queen. Each accomplishment listed by the Queen loosened the strain of keeping a straight face, “You disregarded your personal safety to save the life of a young girl. But more importantly, your bravery inspired your comrades to follow your example and rescue others. In a community driven by greed, your selflessness shined brightly. You are the prime example of the type of man who should be leading in the Royal Army.”

The Queen drew the large sword smoothly from the sheath and rested the end of the blade on Rowark’s left shoulder, “I, Queen Zelda Ingo, ruler and defender of Hyrule, daughter of the goddesses, mother of the Hylian people, and sworn protector of the Triforce, knight thee, Sir Rowark Forester, with the Peers in this room to bear witness and confirm the knighting. I now place upon thee the great responsibility of leading the royal army with power, wisdom, and courage. May justice and compassion eternally rule your actions. You may rise.”

Rowark did as was asked with a bright smile on his face. He looked over to the man who sponsored him, who returned an equally bright smile. “Congratulations!” said Sir Triss. Rowark’s face still had a dumbstruck look. The life changing event slowly settled into his conscience but rendered him unable to respond immediately. “So, how do you feel?” asked Sir Triss.

There were no words for how grateful Rowark was, so instead the former city watchman leaped onto Sir Triss with a big embrace, so genuine and heartfelt that Miro Miro was moved. It was a happiness that she hoped to feel one day again.

“So, let’s talk about your day off.”


	12. I'll Be Your Friend

Much of the morning went sort of like this:

“Where are you from?”

“Piss off.” He didn’t know.

“How old are you?”

“Piss off.” He did not even know when his birthday was.

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Piss off.” Not die.

All Link could do was think about how to heal his broken leg and his shoulder as quickly as possible. Woaphie frowned in frustration, “You’re no fun!” Duh. Living the life of a Link was not fun; it was full of day-to-day struggles for survival. And nothing helped him survive better than anonymity. That and a full belly.

“Tell you what...”

“How did your voice get all nasty like that?” Woaphie interrupted him.

Link smiled, though he could tell his scarface unsettled her, “I’ll answer one question if you get me some more bread.” The one wasn’t enough to settle his hunger, but it was enough to calm his gastric protests.

The young girl jumped up in excitement and dashed out the door. That was one way to get her to shut up, although talking to the annoying, hyperactive girl was a small price to pay for free food. She returned not a minute later with half a loaf of bread and a juicy apple.

“Here!” Woaphie handed both food items to Link, who then hungrily inhaled the bread and left nothing of the apple but the stem. She giggled at the way Link crunched through the apple’s core, “Mum said there’s more food for you if you want because the old man gave her rupees to pay for your stay here.”

“Huh…” an idea began to formulate in his head.

“So now you have to answer two questions now!”

“Urgh, fine,” the full stomach made Link feel a little less hostile towards the girl. She was just some lowborn living in the back alleys, what harm could possibly come from answering her questions? He asked her, “What do you want to know?”

She paused to think for a second, “Well, I’d like to know how you got so many scars.”

“Fair. It’s the first thing people notice about me. That and me voice.” It didn’t come about overnight. For as long as he could remember, Link had been fighting to simply survive in this dump. His voice and scars were reminders of his many close calls with death. Though he could not remember every single detail of his poor, wretched life, there was a distinct memory attached to each scar. “I fight a lot. Bigger Links like to pick on smaller Links because… well, because they can.”

Woaphie’s eyes widened, “Is that why my Mum won’t let me outside to play with the other kids on the block?”

“That’s question number two.” Woaphie pouted. “And yes. Links also don’t like kids with names,” he replied. That was a lie, Links loved kids with names because they always had something worth stealing and selling for scraps on a dinner plate.

“If I get you more food, will you answer more questions?”

“Uh, no, I’m not that hungry anymore, but I’ll tell you what, I’m gonna change the game up a little bit. But first you gotta come closer,” Link’s words drew Woaphie in, close enough so he could whisper in her ear, “I’ll answer any question you have for me if you can get me a red potion.” The magical cure-all medicine healed all wounds and purged all illnesses short of death. “But you can’t tell nobody, not even your mom,” he added at the end.

The girl backed away, not happy about what he was asking of her, “How am I supposed to get one? I don’t have any money.”

“How much money did your mom get from the old man?”

“I don’t know,” she looked like she was hesitant to answer. “He brought a chest about this big, with all blue rupees,” her arms indicated that the chest was about the size of a small dog. Link estimated that Sir Mawar had given the family at least two silver rupees worth in that chest.

“Just take four rupees from the chest. No one will miss it. Take them down to the Market Square and find an apothecary. They got the masks that got a long beak.”

“I-” Link already knew what her answer was going to be, “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble.”

“I’ll be your friend forever.” It was Link’s final card to play.

A long sigh escaped her lungs, but then she nodded, causing Link’s heart to skip with joy, “Okay.” She sighed again to affirm her mission, “Okay I’ll do it. And you promise we’ll be friends forever? I can learn all about you?”

Link placed his right hand over his chest and raised his bandaged hand, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she repeated to him, and then again quietly to herself, and again as she opened the door. It was a clear sign of uncertainty, and Link knew by the time she exited the room that her success was a matter of chance, albeit a low one.

Alone in the room at last, Link began to plan his next move. The first thing he would have to do was to retrieve the rest of his work supplies, which were stashed just outside Hyrule’s favorite whorehouse, the Desert Oasis. He would probably then spend the night at Sanctuary while contemplating his next move. As soon as he would leave the room, Link would become a fugitive from both the Crown and the Zellinks.

He sat up and lowered his good foot onto the ground. His broken leg still tinged with pain, but so long as the foot stayed off the floor, the pain was manageable. He hopped on his good leg toward the door, opening it and peering through. Nobody, good. The only person he needed to watch out for was Woaphie’s mother. Keeping his head on a vigilant swivel, Link entered the short hall that led to the living room and kitchen. He hopped over to one of the two windows by the front entrance and saw the mother outside busily hanging her wet laundry on a clothesline. Perfect.

So long as the mother was preoccupied with her own chores, Link had time to scavenge the house for whatever supplies he needed to survive as a wanted boy. His eye flashed to the woodsman’s knife that he stole from the Zawks earlier sitting on the dining table, and then to a broadsword, resting upright on display in the corner of the living room. Forget everything else. Link had struck gold.

The wide blade owned a plain, leather scabbard, and the round pommel of the hilt reached the nape of Link’s neck. He separated the sword from her clothing, making the sweet symphonic announcement that the blade was naked. Although it clearly a sword made for a commoner, it still shined with a brilliant radiance like it was new. When Link held the sword with his healthy left arm, he found out that it was much heavier than normal and balanced towards the tip of the blade. Even an adult would have trouble wielding this sword with one hand. It would require two hands at all times for someone as small as Link, but too bad the grip was designed for one handed use. The unwieldiness was a necessary sacrifice for the durability. He was fed up with the number of times he had to rely on looting dead street thugs for reliable weapons, any weapon really. It was hard to tell how much the sword was worth, but it was for sure worth more than any one of the weapons he had previously held before.

Placing the blade back into her scabbard, Link hopped to the table using the sword as a crutch, grabbed the knife from the table, and slipped the small blade in between the bandage wrapping and the splint. He had to make it back to bed before Woaphie made it home.

When Link reached the bed, he slipped the sword underneath and then slipped himself underneath the blanket. Within the hour, he heard the sound of a door open and close outside the bedroom, and then heartbeats later, Woaphie entered the room huffing and puffing and closed the door behind her.

“So, how did it go?” Link nonchalantly asked her.

The girl looked pale and looked at Link like she had seen a ghost, “I am not doing that again!”

Link anticipated the good news, “But did you get it?” She withdrew a small vial containing the luminescent red liquid and handed it to Link. “Thanks.” Gratitude was the least he could give her for sending her into a chaotic and dangerous part of Hyrule Castle Dump.

Link removed the cover of the bed and extended his broken leg, prepping it for the healing process. He opened the top and downed the bitter liquid.

The initial relief was instant and always pain free. The cool liquid instantly sent warm chills throughout the body at first. But it was never the case with a broken bone. One heartbeat after drinking the liquid, the broken began to send searing pain up his torso. “Gaaaaah!” he screamed as the bone in his leg snapped into its proper place. As his body began to heat up, beads of sweat started dripping down his face. He could also feel the muscles in his bandaged shoulder tighten, removing the pain once and for all. Once the bone was set into place, a cool chill relieved his body from any further agony.

A sudden gasp broke the silence as she stepped back in shock. Her eyes were glued to the ground, staring at the sword hidden underneath the bed. “What is my father’s sword doing over here?”

“Uhh,” thoughts scrambled through his mind as he tried to piece together a reasonable explanation. But before he could get the first word out...

“Woaphie!?” cried a voice from outside the bedroom, sending a rush of blood through Link’s veins. He did not anticipate Woaphie’s mother discovering the missing blades so quickly. Springing off the bed, Link reached underneath for the sword. By the time Woaphie’s mother entered the room, he already squeezed through the open window. Her crying about her father’s sword was the last he heard from her.

Link sprinted with the sword clutched tightly to his chest past a gang attacking a poor man, a thief burglarizing a house, a beggar donating his leftover food to an orphan, and a teenage girl washing the dishes for her sick parents. As the gang of thirteen year olds kicked and beat a shopkeeper for not paying his protection money, Link suddenly slowed to a brisk walk and he refrained from glancing over to the violent scene, only to avoid contact eye contact with the thugs. There was no need to draw their attention. The woodsman’s blade hidden between the bandage wrapping and the wooden splint would not be enough to scare off a gang of thugs, and the sword would not be enough either. No matter what weapon he wielded, numbers and size generally won the day.

Tall buildings made sure these filthy streets were forever cast in shadow. No matter what time of day it was, the sun’s light never seemed to reach the ground. Waste, filth, excrement, disease, and the occasional assassination victim littered the streets that squeezed in the spaces between buildings. The smell was strong and distinct and the air felt cold and clammy enough for a blind man to know he was walking through the back alleyways. A beggar groveled before the boy, who also had no money. Link narrowly avoided an arm that reached for his ankle and briskly walked past the stick thin, grime covered man. Further down the street were two Deku scrubs digging through a dumpster, probably looking for leftover food to sell to someone more destitute than them. Like he did to the old beggar, Link quickly walked past the opportunistic entrepreneurs and paid them no mind.

Once he felt that he was far enough away from Woaphie’s house, he turned his eyes upward, searching for the tower as he walked. He stopped at an intersection, found the spire, and headed North along a long alley. Link’s destination was only a few blocks that way. A young woman wearing a ragged dress scuttled past him and began digging through a pile of garbage, looking for sustenance that would delay her doomed and wretched fate.

The feeling of danger coursed through Link’s body even before he heard a voice call to him from the shadows, “Lookie what we got here.”

By the time Link drew his heavy broadsword from its sheath, it was already too late. A group of kids and their blue, scaly leader emerged from the darkness and flanked Link, who backed himself up against the wall. Better a wall behind his back than a hostile.

Link tossed the scabbard aside absorbed as much information on his environment and the ruffians in as little time as possible. On the outside, the gang looked like a bunch of kids slightly older than Link. They could not have been more than fifteen years old. Each of them wore a matching tan colored vest with no shirt underneath, matching black stockings, matching black boots to match the stockings. Link tried very hard to keep from laughing at their ridiculous outfits. This was a small gang that pretended that they owned the alleyways, but really all they did was beat homeless people for fun, and they even attempted to look professional while they did it.

The two boys on the left had mean looks on their faces, but their soft hands were only good for beating a corpse. They had yet to see any of their own blood spilt. These two would be the first to turn tail and flee. The freckled one next to them had bruises all over his body, so much that Link thought his skin color was purple with fair colored spots. He was as young as they come and clearly at the bottom in the pecking order.

The ugly Zola in the middle stepped forth from the group. His slightly darker vest and size seemed to symbolize his leadership in the gang. He was a full grown adult who used his age to submit the younger ones, who coaxed these children into robbing the poor and the dead. His sleek, blue body was designed to carry him swiftly through bodies of water. His fins on the side of his head were flaring, a war cry or something like that. Link could never tell if Zolas were always smiling with evil intentions or their mouths were just unfortunately designed to always grin. Their large, beady eyes partially embedded into their frog like skin only made their face look all the more ugly.

It was the same, tired old story of the gang promising a better life for the kids.  All it took to subdue a bunch of children and be treated like a king was to wield the largest wooden stick and, in this gang leader’s case, hammer some nails in it. And when one leader fell, two more rose to take his place. There seemed to be no end to these manipulative scumbags.

“Look at him, he’s kinda cute swinging that toy,” said the red headed boy next to the leader. Everything about him, from the way he smiled with an aggressive confidence and the way he postured himself, said he was the second in command. He was the bloodthirsty type, and he probably had seen the most combat out of everyone besides the Zola, though his wooden club was nothing more than a broken off leg from a table. Link planned on killing him first.

The two golden haired idiots chuckled with their lieutenant. They were brothers, one older and one younger, judging by their resemblance. It was always the older one that dragged his younger one into a petty life of petty crime. The taller, leaner boy towered over his younger brother, but had a confidence that had never been tested before. If he died, his brother, the youngest looking of the gang, would be sure to flee.

The Zola rested his jury rigged mace on his shoulder and chuckled with the raspiest and bubbliest of voices, a signature of the River Zola species, “That's a pretty weapon you got there. Mind if I try it out?” Judging from the smirks on his subordinates’ faces, the leader had a genuine smile on his face. “You can barely even hold that sword,” said the gang leader about Link’s trembling arms, “Come on, don’t hog it all to yourself.”

Indeed, the sword was difficult to hold upright. For now, it was okay that Link looked like an amateur; a fight was just what he needed to practice with his new acquisition. Once again, he scanned from left to right, putting together a plan of attack and a plan of escape. When his eyes reached the youngest gang member, something else entered the alley far off in the distance.

Link needed to focus on the Zola leader, the most imminent threat, but … something was drawing his attention in his right peripheral. It had to be a stray fairy that lost its way, which was not an uncommon sight. No. There was a fight ahead of him, and the Zola was closing in.

But it wasn’t just the fairy that drew his attention. It was also... a warm emotion, coursing through his spine, which then spread through his body and even caused him to blush a little. It reminded him of the feeling of eating a big, warm meal at the Hoblin Tavern. But that wasn’t it. No, the feeling was more foreign. It was a happiness that came from, belonging, whatever that meant.

A clang rang through the alley. The nails on the Zola’s wooden club connected with the metal blade of the sword and knocked the weapon onto the ground. His hand shot forth and gripped Link’s neck firmly and lifted him up against the wall. Being choked definitely brought his focus back onto the fishy breath from the leader’s mouth and his slimy face. Link cursed the fairy under his breath and vowed to sell him or her to the nearest merchant.

If he were to survive that was.


	13. The Hunted

“So uh, gentlemen…” The first people Rowark went to with the news were his friends from his unit. Or old unit now. The four of them huddled around the young man in the mess hall where he found them. Miro Miro recognized two of them the previous night outside the barracks: the short stockier man who could not stand straight and the skinny, curly haired man who called Rowark “Hero boy”. The other two were large, tall, and beefy, and smelled really bad… “I just got knighted! I’m going to be a knight!”

First, their faces burst wide open in happiness. Then, they erupted with a cheer in unison, “EEEYY!!”

“That’s me boy!” belched the the big one with the dark black beard.

“What happened? I saw you run off with the volunteer squad, and then what?” asked the skinny soldier.

“Well,” the way Rowark retold the story felt vague. It was like he was avoiding the details, using many types of unspecified verbiage, and completely left out the part where he rescued the girl. “And then I got woken up this morning, and I got knighted! And the best part is, I got a red rupee right out of Sir Triss’ pay to celebrate! So whadya say guys? Who wants to get day drunk at Tinkle’s Tavern?”

His offer was met with umms and mumbles from his friends. Their lack of enthusiasm brought down the mood instantly.

“Oy, I got a better idea!” said the short stockier one, “Let’s take him ‘you-know-where’ and give him the knight’s special!”

“HEEEY!! That is a better idea!” they said amidst laughter.

The giant one with the small stubble and gross looking dirt all over his skin laughed the hardest, “Alrighty old mate, you’re gonna be in for a surprise!”

Miro Miro knew Rowark looked uncomfortable with the new plan, but he still surrendered to his friends’ whims as they blindfolded him with a white piece of cloth and and led him out of the barracks, and into the busy streets of Hyrule Castle City. She followed behind him, but only from up high, safe from the reach of below.

For whatever reason, the spaces between roads felt more crowded than yesterday. Five men on their day off skipped and pushed through the slow traffic of industry, past wagons and carts, and past tradesmen of all kinds carrying raw materials. Miro Miro could not see any smiles on the peasants’ faces, but she observed a sort of contentment from them. Windows were wide open to receive the summer sun into the homes. No matter what window she spied through, there was a busy parent running around with work to be done.

She had almost lost sight of Rowark! The dense, crowded street hid the men too well. Curses, if only they were dressed like the other soldiers too! Then, Miro Miro spotted golden hair and a white blindfold! One of the big portly ones with the curly hair led the way. He had an aura that seemed to steer pedestrians away from him. Miro Miro could guess why from the way they plugged their noses. The other four men followed behind him unphased by the smell.

They continued walking towards the sun for several blocks and finally stopped him when they made a left turn. In front of them was a tall circular spire, almost six, maybe seven stories tall even, and wider than any tree Miro Miro had ever seen before. In front of the spire was a small, public square with quite the diverse motley of people.

Closest to the spire’s gigantic doors were four gerudo, two dressed to seductively through the streets and attract the lonely men from the streets, the other two stood stalwartly like guards, clad in metal pieces of armor and armed with a long spear with a long, curved spear head. Their eyes stared across to the center of the public square, where a herald, who was a young Hylian with curly blonde hair, rallied a dozen or so people around him as they marched in circles, chanting with each step.

Rowark let out a long sigh, “Let me guess. There’s an angry mob chanting ‘death to the witches’, which must mean we are at the Desert Oasis.” He removed the blindfold and scowled, “You pigs! You guys are absolute pigs!”

“Oh, don’t be that mad,” said the skinny, tall one with the scraggly facial hair as he pushed Rowark towards the entrance, “If we are to celebrate, then let us do it the only way appropriate for a knight!”

“Besides,” his shorter, stockier friend chimed in chuckle, “these rupees came right out of Sir Triss’ pay. It won’t be a good day until I get me a woman.”

“But,” Rowark gulped under the pressure of his friends’ eyes, “I wanted to use that to treat ourselves at a tavern.”

The one with the unkempt, black hair and bushy beard answered right back with a voice that seemed appropriate for a man with a heftier shape, “Oy, that’s why we brought you here! You can get drunk here AND you can have a woman in your arms. It’s like that one saying, you know? Killing two Blins with one arrow!” His strong, meaty hand patted Rowark on the back with a force that almost knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“Besides, we ain’t ever seen you with a woman either!” Everyone simultaneously shot a dirty glance at the short, stocky guard. Miro Miro saw Rowark’s face turn dark red. “What?” the controversial one said, “you guys talk about it all the time too. Rowark here needs to learn how to be a man. This is as good a time as any to learn to properly sheathe a woman!”

Miro Miro felt an instant cringe of disgust when the man uttered the word “sheathe”. Despite the fact that the word had originated in the city, its usage and popularity and spread even to the deepest parts of the forest. Even Miro Miro knew the grotesque word to describe “bump-bump”. The children knew what the act was and why it was done, and thanks to the abundance of wildlife in the forest, they also witnessed bump-bump between animals frequently. She had given countless talks to Kokiri about how the act of bump-bump was strictly forbidden, for the detestable act would cause the Kokiri to lose their innocence, and then they would age and die like a normal Hylian would. The threat of death was enough to scare any child into behaving.

Rowark sighed with defeat, “Is this what you guys really want?” The overwhelming positive response to that question quashed any visible signs of resistance in Rowark’s face. Miro Miro’s heart could feel his sadness.

Rowark hung his head as his friends laughed and made crude jokes and patted him on the back, guiding the bright red, reluctant guest of honor into the doors of the tower. His eyes turned back once more to glance at the fairy, and his face silently apologized to her for caving into peer pressure.

Aside from the fact that she had no interest in seeing what bump-bump between people actually looked like, Miro Miro felt like she had better things to do, like finding a lost Kokiri. Feeling left out, she decided to wait in the middle of the street corner for Rowark to finish his “business”. If she was going to wait, she could keep herself busy and scan the area for Topah, or any Kokiri for that matter. And this time, she wouldn't get lost!

The streets seemed to stretch on forever. Multiple tall minarets poked their heads into the skies in the distance. The pearly white color of the spire contrasted sharply against the blood orange roofing tiles, the wooden frames, and the unique design of each neighbor. It was hard to believe so many people could live in one city! Below her, two rivers full of people, men, women, children, merchants, their horse drawn carts, and soldiers swiftly flowed around a growing group of shouting Hylians occupying the center of the intersection. As she floated above the traffic, she instead paid special attention to the landmarks and the general overlay of the city. At least these buildings weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

With the sun at its noon peak, it crowned above the city. The story Miro Miro had heard back in the forest was that the great capital city of Hyrule was cut into the southern base of the great Eldin mountain range, which stretched as far north into uncharted territory. Truly, the entire city inclined alongside a great cliff, where the castle sat at the southern end of the plateau. In daylight, it looked even more magnificent than it did at night. Like a mountain with many small, orange peaks and one giant peak at its center, nooks and cliffs were carefully carved all over the walls to facilitate whatever mystery was going on within its luminous caves.

Of course, it was hard to miss the stone bridge that extended well above the city below and- Holy Hylia, was that rocky tower always there!? It looked like a piece of land had spiked upward until the tip was level with the castle. Running up along the cliff walls was a wooden shaft that had a platform at the bottom… Oh, that was an elevator, like Rowark and Sir Triss had explained earlier! And at the very tip of the top was also a smaller castle, though it resembled more of a fancy residence than a fortress. Dark red stone was used to construct the walls and roofs instead of the white that the castle preferred. Though the structure occupied almost all the topical area of the natural, yet unnatural looking, tower of earth, its straight and smooth walls surely enclosed enough space to fit The Great Deku Tree within.

Suddenly, a glint of light glimmered in the sky. Someone had jumped off from the edge of the tower! But the person, a soldier judging by his shiny armor, clung to an outstretched piece of cloth that safely slowed his descent into the forest of stone, clay, and daub, just like Mido said the city would look like. As he floated northward, Miro Miro caught sight of another great bridge supported by two man made towers which connected the two cliffs.

“ _ Hey don’t stay up there! _ ” Miro Miro could recognize the sound of a fairy’s voice easily by this point! Though the voice sounded like the fairy was very displeased, “ _ Get down here! _ ”

Miro Miro spotted the fairy with the green aura floating by in an alleyway and made no time in expressing her excitement, “Hi! Pleased to meet you, I’m Miro Miro!”

The fairy looked at her sideways, “ _ Are you stupid? _ ”

Her blood instantly boiled, “Hey! That’s not very nice!” For the first time since she entered Hyrule Castle City, she did not feel scared. Anger replaced that feeling as quickly as the blink of an eye. But of all the forest creatures she could have possibly encountered in the city, why did it have to be the rudest fairy in all of Hyrule?

“ _ Well, are you trying to get yourself killed? _ ” the fairy’s question froze Miro Miro in place. She was at a loss for words to answer the rhetorical question. “ _ What, now you don’t you remember me? _ ”

“Oh!” it clicked in her mind, “You’re from the shop!”

“ _ Yeah that’s right. _ ”

“But how did you get free?”

“ _ Follow me, _ ” with a flap of a wing, the fairy zipped into the dark alleyway. Miro Miro didn’t hesitate to follow, but when she reached the shadow, the foul stench, weighing heavily in the darkness between the buildings, overcame her senses.

“PHEW!” she yelped. While it was hard for a fairy to visibly show a facial expression, Miro Miro could clearly tell that the other fairy was displeased, but silence was most important in their situation. She got the message. After all, this did not seem like the kind of place to attract attention.

The fairy comfortably used thought speech to communicate his answer silently through the filthy atmosphere, “ _ Some kid showed up right after that guy chased you out! It was like, fate, or something. Anyways, kid shows up and then frees us all and then goes running off into the night. So we’ve been tailing him ever since we’ve been free. _ ”

Miro Miro whispered back to him, “So where is he?”

“ _ Wait, don’t you know how to use thought speech? _ ”

“I, uh, Father never gave us the ability.”

“ _ Wait, what? What kind of fairy are you? _ ”

“I’m from the Lost Woods, okay, and I’ve had a hard enough time adjusting to this city! So just,” she wanted to expel everything right then and there, but then she withheld herself. No. Whatever its name was, it did not deserve her rage and frustration.

“ _ Okay, sheesh, I get it, okay? _ ”

“What about you? Where are you from?”

“ _ From the city, born and raised. My fairy mother is rotting somewhere in the sewers beneath the streets. _ ”

“Um, what’s a sewer?”

“ _ Let us just pray you never have to find out _ .”

A low, tense moan erupted from somewhere beneath her. It definitely sounded like a redead! “EEP!” Miro Miro squeaked out. And then she rushed to the stranger’s side.

The long sigh of disappointment and displeasure escaped from Miro Miro’s new… acquaintance. It began descending towards the ground, where the hungry, the diseased, and the dead gathered, away from the public eye. They were forgotten, left to rot away until death decided it was time. It was almost hard to believe that the walls along the alleyway, shoddy shacks stacked on top of each other, were part of the same buildings that had a presentable facade facing the main roads.

Why? In the Kokiri Forest, everything was there for the taking. If a Kokiri was hungry, the Great Deku Tree provided food. If a Kokiri needed a place to sleep, the Great Deku Tree provided shelter. If a Kokiri was in danger, the Great Deku Tree provided protection. In this destitute place, to whom could these forgotten souls pray?

“What’s your name?” she hesitantly broke the dead silence.

“ _ I am called Tandremil, you can call me Tandry. And I identify as he. You? _ ”

“Oh um,” Miro Miro was caught off guard by the gender identification. In the Kokiri Forest, fairy companions were always called mothers, so everyone thought all fairies identified by she. Miro Miro caught on quickly, “I am Miro Miro. I identify as she.” The silent air grabbed the sound and snuffed it with the smell of mold.

The chill breeze was a sinister reminder of the sun’s absence. The flow of air felt like the only sign of life in this graveyard. The two flew underneath a walkway that ran alongside the outside of the second floor. It was more like a place for people to throw away their trash, and the walkway helped the looters search through the rubbish faster. And just when she did not think she see anything more horrifying, she spotted a teenage girl sitting against the wall and cradling a baby, who, upon closer inspection, had been deceased for quite some time, the greenish gray color of the skin being the indicator. The girl almost had a lifeless expression on her face, but her malnourished torso rose and collapsed with every defiant breath.

“Stop!” Miro Miro protested, “We have to help her!” As soon as she said that, a question entered her head. How? What could Miro Miro, a stranger to the dangerous city, do to keep a poor girl from starving? Fairies were not exactly strong enough to carry objects heavier than an apple, and just because the girl was fed today did not mean she would be fed tomorrow.

“ _ Shh! We can’t do anything about her, _ ” said Tandry like he had passed by this situation a thousand times. Sullenly and reluctantly, Miro Miro continued following him. With each breath of the smelly atmosphere, she regretted following the fairy. Between following this complete stranger through a small part of Hyrule Castle City that reeked of death and watching perverted men and Gerudos have bump-bump, the latter choice was becoming the more preferable choice.

Tandry had descended to about Hylian height and began weaving through rubbish piles as tall as a Hylian stood. The starving men, women, and children digging through the garbage for scraps to eat paid no mind to the fairies passing by. A woman’s cry almost jolted Miro Miro upright, but like the rest of the alley’s residents, Miro Miro learned to keep her mouth shut. The cry echoed through the alleys, but it seemingly came from nowhere and went nowhere. The heavy weight of apathy reeked as badly as the rotting corpses Miro Miro just passed.

There was an end to the alleyway, but from Miro Miro’s position, it looked like a small, thin ray of light far in the distance. She wanted nothing more than to fly away from the cold, clammy, alleyway into the warmth of the sunlight. But now more than ever she was curious as to what the other fairy was attempting to see or do.

“ _Alright, here we are. In here,_ ” he instructed Miro Miro as he dove into a small bucket sitting on top of a pile of filth. “ _The kid is just up ahead, but he’s dangerous, though. So don’t go near him._ ”

“Why not?”

“ _ He’ll sell us if he sees us. _ ”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“ _ Be quiet! _ ” Tandry peered over the bucket lip. “ _ We are wanted for our blood _ .”

Hushing into a terrified whisper, Miro Miro asked, “Wh-why?”

“ _ Because our blood can bring back the dead _ .” The solemn conclusion had solidly formed in her mind before Tandry had a chance to finish his thought, “ _ And because of that, we are hunted like animals. _ ” No, Hylians couldn’t be that evil, right?

Miro Miro shuddered at the thought. If she was caught, she would be put in those little jars. She peered over as well to see what was her acquaintance was looking at.

Up ahead, she could see a group of kids and a Zola, who towered over all of them, gathered around something. Then she noticed that they were all armed with clubs. All except one, a boy maybe tens years of age. From the great distance between her and the child, she could barely see any details of his face.

But she felt something familiar. It pounded through her heart and resonated throughout her light energy. She had to get a closer look.

As she drifted closer to what seemed like a fight. The kids were gathered around two people. A terrifying Zola stood proudly above the rest in the center. He wore a vest like the other kids, so they were friends? A dark haired child stood opposite a Zola, and he was armed with a fierce looking sword.

Even the Tandry’s calls could not snap Miro Miro out of it, “ _ Hey! What are you doing? Get back here! _ ”

The boy turned his head and noticed her approach. Even though she was too far to distinguish his eyes, a terrifyingly chill coursed her body. They had made eye contact, that was for sure. His tattered, cream colored tunic and torn, drab trousers to cover his thin frame. How was he able to carry such a big sword?

“ _Oh no, she’s trying to get herself killed!_ ” the voice pounded in Miro Miro’s head, but it would not deter her. She was too drawn to this sentiment of familiarity. “ _Oh no, it’s too late. I can’t help her, She’s dead..._ ”

Miro Miro could not figure out why he was so familiar. Was it Topah? She began to picture Topah in her mind. She searched through every fragment of her memory for any image of what he may have looked like. But in her mind, all she could put together was a muddled silhouette of a boy. He may have worn the traditional, Green Kokiri tunic and the pointed Kokiri hat, or he may not have. She felt ashamed for forgetting the face of the child she was assigned to protect.

What she could remember were his likes and dislikes. She remembered a happy boy, a Kokiri who had a resting smile on his face all the time. He had a lot of energy and liked running around the village. She could remember that he liked running around the village naked, but she strained trying to remember any physical features on that naked body. She remembered setting up playdates with other Kokiri, being a mediator for arguments, and sharing stories of the Hero of Time with an audience of Topah and his friends. At the very least, she could remember his name.

A clang rang through the alley. The nails on the Zola’s mace connected with the metal blade of the sword and knocked the weapon onto the ground.  _ Oh no! _ thought Miro Miro as the Zola picked up the boy by his throat and lifted him off the ground.


	14. The Lost Gate

Link’s eyes darted to the Zola’s cheeky smile and then to the Zola’s right arm which was cocked back, ready to dig the wooden club full of nails into Link’s head.

Link quickly lifted his splinted leg, his fingers wrapped around the grip of the knife sitting just outside the bandages and yanked it upwards, cutting through the fabric in the process. Bringing his right palm up and over the Zola’s left arm, Link dug the blade into the fishy, soft muscle. After a raspy cry of pain, the gang leader instantly dropped the boy. As his arm slid downward, so too did Link’s body follow. But not without pulling the blade out of the arm first, and drawing more blood on the way out.

As soon as Link’s feet touched the ground, his instincts prevented him from following up with another attack. Had Link attacked, he would not have seen the mace coming from the side. Just as Link’s instincts predicted for the boy, the Zola leader had just swung his weapon, instead forcing Link to dive out of the way. His acrobatic body and years of practice gracefully helped Link finish a forward roll.

As he turned around, he saw a more alarmed and angry, to say the least, Zola. His opponent had lifted his weapon and was inching cautiously towards Link, but with every feint from the defender, the gang leader would jump back. Their standoff brought energy, as the crowd was excited to see someone finally put up a fight. Their false sense of security was placed in the abilities of their leader, who had never lost in front of them. Wolves chose to eat sheep instead of other wolves for a reason.

Taunts and cheers and jeers were being thrown into the ring as the two circled each other. One was cautiously waiting for the other to make move. The other one was slowly placing his back against the wall so that no one would pounce on him from behind, and he was lining up a shot.

Link set up his attack with another feint stab. Clearly afraid of another wound, the gang leader flinched and retracted defensively, which was exactly what Link wanted. The boy shifted his weight on his back foot, wound his right arm back, and then sent the blade spinning forth as fast as he could. With this much power involved, it was pointless to aim for the lieutenant standing behind the leader. After years of practicing knife throwing, Link knew that hitting his target from his distance was a matter of chance.

The Zola slipped to his right and dodged the knife. Before the Zola retracted even further into a defensive stance, Link sprinted forward and followed the trajectory of the knife. The blade continued spinning past the leader and towards the unsuspecting lieutenant. He had to die first.

There was almost no sound when the blade’s trajectory drove metal into the flesh of his neck. The surprised expression on his freckled face almost looked like he was watching his last seconds escape from his throat in disbelief. The sight of blood spurting from the wound consumed the bloodthirsty energy of the crowd, leaving only silence and shock. The looks on their faces were stretched as wide as their facial muscles allowed in response to their second in command lifelessly falling onto his knees and collapsing onto his side.

While the surprised expressions were turned toward their fallen comrade, their distraction provided the opportunity for Link to reach the lieutenant. His light body tackled the dying body to the ground, and then his legs mounted the chest. When he pulled the knife out, blood shot forth from the open wound. As the blood of Link’s first victim began to stain his shirt, he looked into the lieutenant’s eyes, hanging on for life.

And then Link brought the blade down into the face. Again. And again. With each plunge of the blade, a splatter of blood would escape from the deceased’s face. With each withdrawal of the blade, a splatter of blood flew onto Link’s tunic.

Just as the rest did nothing as they watched their comrade struggle to stay alive, their petrified bodies did nothing as Link continued stabbing the face until it was beyond recognition. As Link had predicted, the two boys at the end turned tail and ran. The one with the bruises had absolutely no compassion for anyone in the gang, and was certainly not about risk death to fight a bloody killer with whom he had no qualms, but he would not run for some reason. The blood soaked killer gave him a threatening glare, and that was the encouragement needed for the bullied child to turn and run after the other two.

Three against one was better odds. “Kill him!” the Zola commanded his remaining two subordinates while nursing his wound. The taller, older of the two looked at Link with the eyes of a soldier ready to obey his commander’s order unto death. Link dismounted the corpse quickly before the first strike came. Link had to jump back from the first swing and again for the second. His opponent’s swings were fast, and his recoveries were even faster. With nothing to stop the force of the wooden club, Link’s opponent utilized his superior reach.

Each swing forced Link backwards, away from his beloved longsword. Link was not concerned. So long as the other two combatants remained idle, Link had all the time in Hyrule to tire out the active one. It would only be a matter of time before the incoming swings would lose their ferocity. Link danced on the tip of his toes around each swing. And after the tenth miss or so, each swing became noticeably slower and slower.

As he ducked and dodged each increasingly burdened attack, he began to maneuver towards his sword. When each attack became sufficiently sluggish and predictable, he stood his ground in front of his opponent, just far enough away from the first swing. His position was a dare for the teenager to lunge forward on his second swing, and Link would move into striking range during his opponent’s short window of recovery.

Blood rushed through Link’s body at the sense of an unseen, imminent danger, but it was too late. The impact of the club forced the air out of his lungs before he could deduce that the younger brother had unexpectedly stepped in.

Thankfully, the swing had no conviction, no experience, and no power. As far as Link could immediately tell from gently feeling the stricken area, there were no broken bones. Still, the forced a cough out of him as he keeled over in pain and quickly backpedaled from the boys to catch his breath and then turned around to make sure the Zola had not made any attempts to enter the battle as well. He needed a new plan, and he needed that sword lying on the filthy ground more than he needed a plan.

Only the younger boy stood between Link and the sword, his older brother flanked on the left, and the Zola flanked on the right. Either way, he would have to get through the boy in front.

Link decided to make the first move. He postured his torso upright and held out the knife hand in front, letting his feet swiftly stride forward to close the distance between him and the timid defender. With an extra push off of his back foot, he leaped forward to attack. He quickly planted his foot to abruptly change direction, but it sent a frightened, unbalanced boy stumbling backwards. It was a nice bonus, but that was not what Link was after.

He did not have to look left to see the incoming, overprotective big brother intervene to protect family. The bigger gang member stepped with his right, lifting his club over his head, and brought his weapon down with as much force as he could. Link had already cut to his left, into the oncoming attacker. His superior agility and timing bypassed the weapon’s deadly range. With both hands on the grip, Link thrusted his short weapon forward and plunged his shorter weapon into flesh. The wounded teenager fell forward, unable to fight his forward momentum, and as he fell, Link turned the body over and yanked the dagger out, sending the incapacitated combatant spinning away.

The younger boy, no longer concerned for his own safety, ran past Link without picking his club. The boy was now occupied with his only family’s survival. So long as Link did not disturb the two, they would pose no threat.

The only thing standing in the way between Link and his beloved new toy was the filth on the ground. Link took casually slow steps to catch his breath, while the Zola stared in disbelief that a boy had bested his entire gang.

He replaced his knife onto his trouser strings and picked up the significantly heavier weapon. After a few practice swings, Woaphie’s prized possession was still just as heavy. Parrying or blocking with this sword was probably a bad idea. It was a disadvantage that irked Link the most since defense was the reason why he even bothered to steal the blade at all. But after the Zola gang leader watched the Kokiri slowly take care of his gang, the boy deserved some respect or fear at the very least.

The Zola licked his dry lips and bent into a fighting stance. He angled his body, right foot forward, and held his weapon across his face. Link responded by shifting his left foot back and, with two firm grips, hoisted the sword up and pointed it at his foe.

“Make this interesting for me please,” said Link.

“Heh.” With a flick of his wrist, The Zola whipped the club around to knock the heavy weapon out of the way. Link was not about to lose his weapon a second time, but impact of metal on metal forced him to move along with the momentum of the heavy blade by spinning around and taking two steps backwards, safely away from the Zola’s followup attack. Link continue his spin until his right foot planted again, and then he used the sword’s undeterred momentum to deliver a powerful horizontal swing.

The Zola would have been a fool to attempt a third strike in the combo, let alone block the incoming attack. He stepped back instead, respecting the sword’s reach. This gave Link the authority to control the distance. He swung his sword again horizontally. When the Zola jumped back, Link used the momentum of his first swing to bring the heavy blade back around and lift him off the ground. With a cry, Link brought down the blade with as much force as his small body could muster.

But the sharpened metal hit the stone ground. The sword was just too slow. The Zola had gracefully sidestepped the blow and was ready to bring his club down on Link’s head. Had Link jumped away from the swing, the club’s reach would have been long enough to split his skull open. Instead, he leaped towards the Zola’s inner space, slipping just inside the weapon’s effective reach and landing on one foot at mere arm's-length away from the Zola, and then used that planted foot to launch his right shoulder into the Zola’s gut.

The gang leader was not expecting such an aggressive move and thus clutched his stomach while backstepping to safety. After knocking back the Zola, Link raised the blade to end the fight, but he was too slow to see the front kick coming. “Ooph!” the force into his chest knocked some air out of his lungs and knocked him over. Link growled for underestimating his opponent.

He was not going to make that mistake again. Link rose to his feet and readied his weapon.

His eyes wandered away from his target for one split heartbeat and caught sight of the fairy again. This time, the fairy was much closer to the fight, too close for safety. Suddenly, Link felt an immense amount of pressure in his head. Images exploded in his mind, like they were trying to escape.

In all these images, Link was in a forest, talking to another child. Were these memories? Whatever they were, they were giving Link a headache.  He felt every heartbeat pump blood into his already pressured brain. His left hand suddenly began to sting with pain. His scar underneath the bandage suddenly began glowing. “Grraaaah!” the pain was too much for him to handle.  Link backed away instinctively and squeezed his eyes shut to alleviate the swelling ache.

And when he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by forest. All the pain was gone.

The pressure in his head disappeared. He looked around himself and saw that he was wearing a clean pressed green tunic and a green hat with a pointy tip. A small, leather belt with a metal buckle fastened tightly around his waist. He wore skin-tight, white trousers and small, sepia leather boots. It was cleaner clothing than anything Link had worn in the last two years, maybe even more. To his left was the edge of a ridge that overlooked a village built along trees. Miniature treehouses, bridges, vines, and sturdy branches made up the infrastructure of their community. The Kokiri Village. Link was beginning to remember.

The ridge made him feel an emotion that he had forgotten he once had. The same feeling that washed over him when he first spotted the fairy returned to him. He could distinctly smell the lilac and lavender flowers blooming at the beginning of spring. He could pick out each animal call in the background. He could feel every cool gust of air on his skin. This was the place where he spent the most time when he lived in the forest.

The Lost Gate was named so because the top of the cliff was the main entryway into the Lost Woods, and it was only accessible by scaling up the rocky wall. A large vine, though, ran down the center of the cliff, giving the children easy access to the top. Link did not come here to sight see and admire the beauty of his innocent village, whose population had swelled up to the hundreds by this point. He was after the Kokiri sword.

In the village, there always one sword that was sacred. The Kokiri sword was the only weapon in the village with a metal blade, for it was against the rules for the children to possess a deadly weapon in their homes. Of the hundreds of Kokiri that resided in the village, only one was even allowed to wield the blade, and the only way to obtain the blade was to defeat the Protector of the forest. Everyday, Kokiri Village’s champion would defend her title at least five times.

What was her name? She had been Protector of the forest for long enough that the children simply called her by her title. No one called her by her given name for decades now.

Regardless, there was no mistaking that the golden haired girl standing in front of him with the Kokiri sword loosely held in her right hand was the Protector. The strands of her silky mane waved back and forth with the wind. Her flawless skin, beautiful face, tall body, athleticism, skill with the sword, and strong personality were the envy of everyone in the village.

Link tightened his grips on his wooden, two handed sword. “Relax,” said the Protector, who seemed to know his every twitch of movement. He stubbornly kept his grips tight.

Raising his sword into the air, Link proudly declared, “I will be the Protector of this forest!” like he had done many times before.

“Well, you better hurry up and beat me!” the Protector retorted, “Maybe the eighth time will be your lucky time?”

As he spun the blade in his hand, he noticed that his memory began to feel more like a dream. Link inhabited the body with all the skills that he had accumulated in recent years. His feet felt light and controlled. The wooden sword felt like a feather in his hands as he twirled it about. As Link twirled the blade, muscle memory was coming back to him… muscle memory he never had during this lifetime.

They circled each other clockwise, studying each other’s movements, respecting each other’s distance. Link’s eyes darted up and down to observe her slow but relaxed movements. And, like any other Kokiri boy, to admire her looks.

Then the Protector telegraphed her great lunge forward before her front foot pushed forth. Wait, that’s not right, she was much more skilled than that. Her arm was extended, ready to strike, but her body was too vulnerable to attack. No, the Protector would have never done this in a fight. She would never make her first strike so easy to parry.

As the Protector landed, she unwound her twisted torso and unleashed a powerful forehand slash from her right hand. Link timed his own swing earlier. Using the superior reach of his wooden sword, he cut upwards as the Protector’s hand was coming around.

And then the dull wooden sword cleanly sliced through flesh and cleanly cleaved her right hand off. Something wet splashed onto his face. Blood. No, this was not a memory. This never happened. On the eighth attempt, the Protector had knocked Link off the cliff. Right? What was going on?

As the hand and the sword both traversed through the air, a sudden thought clicked in Link’s head. It wasn’t even the Protector to begin with. As this realization washed over his body, he led the upward momentum of the wooden blade into another attack position and back stepped.

Twirling around gracefully like a dancer, Link brought down the heavy sword into the top of the Protector’s left shoulder and, with the sickening sound of metal separating flesh and bone, buried it into her stomach.

It wasn’t her. He knew it wasn’t her. But that did not stop the scar on his left hand from burning with pain. He cried out, not in pain, but in grief. The burning pain brought Link back to reality. It was his cursed reminder of the only thing he knew about his past...


	15. The Fateful Meeting

Miro Miro knew something went wrong when she made eye contact with the boy. He released the grip of his left hand to hold his head. His right hand, unable to keep the blade lifted, let the heavy metal fall to the ground.

Suddenly he relaxed his body. His left hand drooped from his face and dangled at the end of his arm like a pendulum. His torso was bent over, but his legs were active and bent, keeping him in balance even though he looked mentally absent.

Miro Miro was afraid that the Zola would attack while the boy was seemingly unconscious, but at this point she had no idea who to root for: an ugly bully or a demon child. She still could not fathom that the blood stained on the boy’s shirt came from a living, being only moments ago. The goat’s throat being cut open made Miro Miro feel nausea. The murder of the two man-at-arms made the problem worse. But the brutal execution of the poor, red-haired child had truly sent Miro Miro over the edge.

Fairies did not have stomachs. The were given bodies resembling the form of the goddesses, but these balls of energy were never given any of the physiological features. After all, they never ate. So she was in for a surprise when she wretched after watching the execution take place. She did not know fairies were even subject to vomiting, but something liquidy escaped from her mouth. A droplet of, something, forced itself up from inside and expelled downward toward the ground. The droplet produced its own white light that radiated as strongly as Miro Miro’s natural light did. It splashed like a water droplet upon hitting the ground and dripped down the pile of garbage.

That boy wasn’t a Kokiri. She refused to believe it. The Kokiri of the forest would sometimes pee whenever they listened to a scary story, and most would instinctively cry at the sight of a droplet of blood. Miro Miro had just watched the lone boy repeatedly stab a child, only slightly older than he, multiple times in the face. What kind of Kokiri, let alone a young child, was even capable of such cruelty?

Right when both she and the Zola thought he indeed was out cold, the boy bent over to pick up his sword off the ground and lifted the tip high into the air.

“I will be the Protector of the forest!” he cried out with a terrifying, dried up, croak. His declaration sounded like Ganondorf had possessed the body from beyond the sacred realm’s seal.

No way, conceded Miro Miro; only a Kokiri would know who the Protector of the Forest was. It was like the child living back in the forest. His relaxed and unfocused look resembled the calm and looseness in his body. The child and the Zola circled each other clockwise; Miro Miro was unsure what either one would do. The boy toyed with the weapon and twirled it like it weighed nothing. The Zola was clearly afraid of that sword, but because the Zola’s face had that eternal, cursed grin, it was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling.

His two cheek fins flared outward like a bird stretching its wings, and then the Zola jumped forward for the attack. For a heartbeat, it looked like the boy was not going to do anything at all.

Then, before a mouse could finish blinking, the boy raised the sword high into the air, separating the Zola’s hand from the arm and, subsequently, the nailed club from the hand. Miro Miro instantly felt her stomach turn.

And when the sword plunged downwards, separating flesh and bone, Miro Miro wretched again.

It was the sight of the sword buried in the Zola’s body that made the reality of the city full of violence finally settle in Miro Miro’s mind. It was a completely different Hyrule from the one that the stories the Fairy Mothers would tell. Another drop of glowing goo fell onto the ground.

She heard a whisper escape from the boy, who was kneeling on the ground and clutching his bandaged hand, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Was he apologizing to the victim? It was hard to tell once the boy picked his head up to survey his surrounding. He then stood up and yanked the blade from the body, and then wiped the blood off on a part of his shirt that was not yet stained with red.

That only left the two remaining teens, whose expressions were nothing short of fearful. The younger one trembled uncontrollably, hoping the safety of his dying companion would calm him down. The older blonde struggled to gasp for air, but he was succeeding at the very least.

Their eyes looked upward and saw the victor walking toward them with his sword resting on his shoulder. As soon as the boy came within striking distance, Miro Miro looked away as he brought down the sword quickly.

The boy’s croaky voice was low pitched like an adult man’s voice, “Do I have a reason to kill you?” Miro Miro turned around and saw that the sword was extended until the tip was a finger’s length away from the younger one’s nose.

He quickly shook his head, “No! Leave us alone! We’ll never see each other again!”

The boy moved the sword’s steel from their faces, “Good.”

The sight of mercy baffled Miro Miro. Where was the mercy for the slain? Perhaps what upset Miro Miro the most was the child’s power to dictate who lived and who died. The boy wielded this power frighteningly with the utmost authority and arrogance in his every swing. Many years ago, The Great Deku Tree warned that once a person killed, that person was always willing to do it again. This corrupt power of determining life and death was as deadly as a raging forest fire.

That was why the Great Deku Tree entrusted the Kokiri forest’s most sacred weapon with one who understood the consequences. If the sword was used to kill anyone for any reason, The Great Deku Tree would strip the humanity from the Protector and banish him or her into the Lost Woods as a wandering, wicked spirit that roamed the darkest parts of the forest, otherwise known as a Skull Kid. All who lived in the forest knew the legend of Majora, the first murderer of the Kokiri Village. But as cruel as Majora’s fate was, all the Great Deku Tree ever wanted was for the Protector to find new, nonviolent solutions to solve conflicts.

Just as the boy turned around, a glass bottle shot upward, and a metal lid closed as soon as Miro Miro’s body came into contact with the bottom. A bald and wrinkly old man smiled exuberantly as his two hands clamped onto the glass jar, “Gotcha!” That blood curdling voice belonged to the same shopkeeper who chased Miro Miro from the day before.

Miro Miro tried to fly out, but the solid glass painfully reflected her away. She tried to burst through the metal lid to no avail.

She did not want to consider the possibility of asking the cold blooded murderer for help. But she also valued not being trapped more than risking interaction with the ruthless killer. With no other options, Miro Miro pressed herself at the edge of the glass and yelled, “Help!”

The boy rolled his eyes and sighed, as if choosing to save Miro Miro’s life was his absolute last priority. His hands lifted the blade again. “Sorry,” he said before charging at the shopkeeper.

Clutching the jar like it had a lot of value, the frail, old man unleashed a high pitched shriek. The man’s skinny legs worked as hard as they could to get away from the incoming maniac. Miro Miro bounced around the jar, unable to keep up with the jar’s unpredictable movements and unable to see anything outside the jar clearly. She could only hear her kidnapper’s rapid footsteps and breathing.

It was not long that Miro Miro could hear a second set of footsteps quickly approaching. “AH!” the shopkeeper yelped as he tripped forward. The jar slipped through the man’s arms and crashed upon the dirt ground below. Miro Miro flew towards freedom, and turned around to see the child catch up to the shopkeeper trying to get up to his knees.

Miro Miro squealed as the young boy swung his sword, with control and strength resembling those of a full grown warrior, and stopped the blade as it pointed at his next victim’s neck, the tip barely grazing the sweat running down his wrinkly jowl. The blade lifted up, and gently guided the shopkeeper upward, until he was supported by both his bony knees.

“Please,” the shopkeeper clasped his hands together and began trembling as his eyes welled up, “Please.” A tear fell down off his cheek bone, and left a moist, circular mark upon the dirt.

“Please!” Miro Miro spontaneously exclaimed, “Please spare his life!” She had seen enough loss of life for one lifetime, as big of a jerk as the shopkeeper was.

The boy smirked. Then he pivoted on his foot, winding his torso, and unleashed a powerful swing. It was a fast swing, so fast that before Miro Miro could scream, “NOOO!” the body and the head were already in the midst of falling to the ground separately.

Miro Miro violently hurled once again and continued hurling as blood escaped from its once living source. The longer the body was left there, the bigger the pool of blood. After Miro Miro recovered from vomiting, she and the murderer shared an uncomfortable silence between them. He turned around and gave her a frightening stare down.

Scar tissue had turned the boy’s face into a misshapen figure. The green eyes, the nose, and the mouth were all in the wrong places, and the scars holding those parts in place looked like it was digging ditches across his face. The nose was almost sickeningly crooked. The right side of his mouth had a scar that ran from the corner of the lip to his mid cheek, probably the most sinister one The years and years of fighting had permanently painted an evil smirk on his right face. Mud, muck, and blood covered his entire body, even on his open wounds. She wagered this boy had not seen a bath in a very long time.

All the scars on his body could not hide the incredibly chiseled body the boy had. Divots and ditches of scar tissue also ran along his arms and cut into the muscle. Even though his muscular frame was larger than the normal frame of the Kokiri, wielding the sword the way he did still seemed improbable for a child his size.

His tunic was as red as a rose. She wretched again. The evil grin looked even worse when he actually smirked, “You fairies puke this stuff?” He bent over with the bloody blade resting on his shoulder and touched the gooey liquid with two fingers.

“Ew! What are you doing?” Miro Miro yelled with futility. The boy wiped the goo across his evil scar on his cheek. It glowed even brighter when it came into contact with the scar tissue, and then it melted into the concave space. When the glow disappeared, his scar was healed, skin as good as new. His clean, healed patch of skin was now the only part with no grime and muck.

“Neat!” he said as he bent down for another helping. After he applied all that was left on the ground, the boy still looked, ugly, just not as malevolent.

“Wh- Wh-” She wanted to say “Who are you?” but instead it came out as, “Who, why, why did you kill those people?”

Without giving his answer any time for thought, the boy replied, “Because I needed to.” Casually and coldly, he started walking back towards the scene of the fight.

Miro Miro froze at his chilly answer.  _ Curse me! _ She had twenty eight years in the forest to plan exactly what she would say to the first Kokiri she ever laid eyes on. But here he was, standing in front of her with a bloody sword in his hand, having brutally murdered three people. What could she say to such a menace? Could she even talk to him as a Kokiri then? “You’re still a killer!”

“HA!” the boy laughed out loud, “No dung, you dungbrain!” his laughter continued to echo throughout the quiet alley as if he had no regard for who might hear him. “You know what’s the best part about being a killer?” he asked as he wiped the blood on his blade off of his shirt.

After a long silence, Miro Miro asked, “What is it?”

“I get paid to do it.” His dead eyes and smirk violently displayed his killer experiences like an open book for Miro Miro to read.

“That’s,” she did not know what “getting paid” meant, but it clearly meant that he was encouraged to do so, “that’s no justification for taking the life of another! Y-you were taught better!”

“Oh yeah?” challenged the boy, “By whom?”

The response shocked Miro Miro. He forgot about the Great Deku Tree? How could he forget? “You know, your father, the Great Deku Tree.”

“Heh,” he scoffed, “Now you’re just sounding like a cult leader.”

“No! You are a Kokiri!” Miro Miro tried her hardest to bore that into the childish part of him, if it still existed.

His eyes still looked dead, but his smirk was gone, “I’m lost.”

As they passed by the boy with stab wounds in his face, Miro Miro pressed further, “You’re a Kokiri! You were taught by the Great Deku Tree that all life was precious!”

The boy picked up the sword’s large scabbard and began wiping the muck off, “A Kokir-what? And what in Din’s Hearth is a Great Deku Tree?”

Miro Miro wanted to explode in fury right then and there. How could a Kokiri forget his own parent, the very one who created his life? “How, how can you not know who He is? He gave life to you!”

“Did you come all the way here to tell me I was born from a tree? Did my deadbeat father send you here to judge to me to death? Because I am an ungrateful child? Or are you trying to spread the good word of this ‘Great Deku Tree’?” his insolence towards the father he probably had not seen in many decades was unprecedented, and it made Miro Miro more furious and less understanding. He sheathed the oversized sword and began walking down the alleyway.

“Wait, where are we going?” Miro Miro asked as she followed him.

“It’s ‘where am I going’. There is no we. And I’m going to lay low for a while.”

“What do you mean, lay low for a while?”

The boy sighed, “I’m going to a place that will shelter me for the night. Hopefully.” At least the boy was not driving her away.

Because she did not know whether she would ever come across another Kokiri again, she reluctantly followed the demon child. Miro Miro did not want to let silence make the cold, clammy atmosphere any more frightening than he already was, “You mentioned before that you had a method to killing.” Her loud voice echoed through the shadowed alley, but it did not bother her. If it were to attract trouble, it would be nothing this murderer and his sword could not handle.

“You wanna know why I killed those three and spared the rest?”

It was hard for her to say yes. But her desire to explore the Kokiri’s mind pestered her to continue asking questions she would never imagine asking in her lifetime. After all, he could have been the only person who knew where Topah could be, “Why did you kill the first one?”

“To scare off the first three,” relied the boy without thinking.

She pressed on, “But, did you have to brutally kill him like that?”

“Like what? Stabbing him in the face over and over again? He was dead after the blade hit his neck. A wound like that can end the strongest men in a few heartbeats. All the extra stabs were just to scare off the new guys in the gang.” Miro Miro hated to admit it, but the logic of killing one person in order to avoid killing three others was sound. With little experience in the way of fighting, she had little alternative scenarios to propose.

Miro Miro was disgusted at herself for being satisfied with his answer, but she continued her probing, “Then what about the Zola?”

“He was their leader. If I left him alive, he would have ran off, recruited another gang, and then hunted me until either one of us breathed our last breath.”

She wanted to ask how the boy knew the Zola would do such a thing, but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Miro Miro moved on, “And why did you show mercy to those two boys?”

“Well, I meant to kill the older one, but he accidentally lived, and so long as he and his brother stayed out of my way, I didn’t have to kill both of them.”

“How did you know they were brothers?”

“I just do okay?” the boy’s impatience raised the level of his voice, “I didn’t survive in Hyrule Castle Dump by swinging a sword, I did it by knowing stuff. They looked alike, and the older bigger guy was acting very protective of the smaller guy, something only family would do. And if the older brother died, I would have had to kill the younger one too in case he decided to avenge his only family.” Once again, Miro Miro cursed herself for having no rebuttal.

She had to press on to the last victim, “And, what about the shopkeeper?”

The boy did not immediately respond, “I needed the practice.”

“What!” the answer shocked her, like she actually expected a reasonable answer from a heartless murderer, “How could you be so heartless? Just because he was not a nice person does not mean he deserved to...!”

The boy came to a stop and swiveled around quickly to interrupt her, “He was about to sell your blood for five silver rupees!” What did he mean by that? Miro Miro reluctantly listened in silence. “If his life was truly worth something, next time escort me to a slaver so I can make some rupees off him,” the boy turned back around and continued walking down the endless alleyway.

What was a slaver? Why were people after her blood? Questions about Hyrule in its current state swirled around her head so violently that she could not figure out which question to ask the boy first. But at this point, she also did not want to know the answer to any of them.

“Let me ask you this question,” he broke the hanging silence and then used a mocking voice to ask her, “How come you do not ask why that guy tried to capture you? How come you do not ask why that gang attacked me? Why do I strike you as the villain?” the questions struck Miro Miro dumb. All the previous questions she wanted to ask him vanished; instead, she pooled all strings of thought together just to find a decent counter.

Although Miro Miro was unable to summon an immediate answer without looking like the judgmental mother that the Kokiri so desperately needed, she could not leave the boy’s flawed opinions, or his bad manner, unchecked, so she squeaked out the most uncomfortable reply to counter what were probably the hardest questions she had ever faced, “Because, you, you committed sin?” Deku nuts! She did not mean to make that answer sound like a question.

“Ha! Sin is just some stupid thing that changes whether you’re this person or that person,” the cold hearted words sent a chill down Miro Miro’s soul.

She had to fight back against his evil! “Killing is a sin! There is nothing to be debated about it!”

“Says who? This Great Deku Tree that you're so fond of?” Miro Miro was quickly getting tired of the Kokiri’s rhetorical questions and his clear disrespect of the Father of the Forest, the being that was responsible for giving her purpose. She could feel the boy’s condescending tone fuel the fire that made her blood boil, “If you are not aware, this is not the forest. In fact...”

The boy turned around once again, but this time he drew his knife and pointed the tip right at Miro Miro. She gulped loudly. Without any caution, the boy raised his voice above a level that seemed wise, “If you’re so disgusted by everything I do, why you are even following me!? If I were you, I would fly straight back to whatever forest you came from, where a gigantic tree can tell you what is right and what is wrong, and everyone lives happily ever after like in all the stories! Because this reality is much different, and I don’t think you’re ready to find out how ugly this city can get.”

Up until that moment, everything Miro Miro had witnessed confirmed the boy’s inconvenient truths. After seeing numerous people die in the past two days, she felt like Hyrule Castle City was trying its best to force her out. Seeing people kill each other made her feel sick. Seeing people suffering made her feel helpless. And it felt like Hyrule Castle City only offered those two feelings to all her forsaken guests.

“No”, Miro Miro steeled herself, this harsh place will not break me! Silence ensued as she mentally battled against the anguish that was slowly trying to settle in her being. She spent twenty eight years wandering the Lost Woods looking for Topah without any sign of hope. This Kokiri in front of her, despite his evil persona, was the first Kokiri she had seen in years. If a Kokiri lived in the city, then there was a chance that Topah could be in the city as well.

“No,” she said again. She prayed to Farore that this was not the case, and not for the obvious reason of cutting her time spent in the city as short as possible.

“‘Scuse me?” the child lowered his dagger.

“No! I came here for a reason!”

Silence. His eyes seemed to dig into her soul, her very fiber of existence. It was like he was trying to pry the truth out of Miro Miro. “And what reason might that be?” asked the boy.

She resolutely declared in the middle of the decaying alley, “I came here to the city to find my lost companion, Topah. Maybe you know something about him?” It was stab in the dark, but it felt better than aimlessly wandering the endless, dark forest.

After several more heartbeats of the one sided staring contest, the boy finally responded. “No, don't know the guy,” he said as he turned around and continued his way to his intended destination, “Follow me.”

Miro Miro felt relieved. She still held contempt and distrust for this Kokiri, but she was somehow confident that this boy, like Rowark, was at least not trying to kill her. Something in her gut told her that she could trust him that much. As he neared the end of the alleyway, the ray of light at the end of the path felt inviting.

Before he stepped into the open space, she felt obligated to ask the most important question, “What is your name?”

For three long heartbeats, Miro Miro prayed to the Great Deku Tree and the Golden Goddesses that the answer was not Topah. “Link,” he finally replied.


	16. Sanctuary (part 1/2)

Link: the name flowed from his mouth as naturally as Hyrule Castle City’s rubbish and sewage flowed into the Hylian River. It was a forgettable name. Half the paupers in all Hyrule and their wretched pet rats were named Link. Therefore, virtually all the thieves and murderers of Hyrule were named Link for that reason.

But the name Topah. It thundered in his mind. It sparked an echo and kindled a lost memory inside his head. Did he know someone named Topah? He tried hard to search back through his memories as far as it went, but aside from his only memory of his time in the forest, all he could recall were events up to a year ago and all the other names and faces he could conjure were just people who wanted him dead. No, but he remembered hearing other people use this name around his presence… long ago… how long ago? Link silently questioned and pondered as he walked to the end of the alleyway.

“Wait one moment,” he halted just before entering the volatile, chaotic crowd. Another Fundamentalist protest had gathered steam, bottlenecking the traffic completely. In the middle of the crowd, a religious loony stood on a platform and wore a golden, monk’s robe while preaching about the evils of the heretical Gerudo and their culture. Also poking above the heads were the occasional pitchfork, army issued spear, and torch. Well, so long as Link made no unnatural movements, no one would pay him any mind anyway.

Pointing across the way, he instructed the fairy, “You should not follow me through the traffic. Wait for me in that small gap between the tower and hostel.”

Link dove into the cesspool of people and swam through the bodies like a seasoned pedestrian. There was no crowd so congested that Link could not slip through unhindered. It took him several years to master, but once he had learned the patterns and the behavior of the organic crowd, navigating through became as easy as swimming through water. Each time he slipped into the traffic, he became better at flowing with the direction of the current and redirecting himself with little resistance. This extraordinary ability was one of only a few reasons why he enjoyed being a child.

Link emerged from the dense crowd and into another small space between the Desert Oasis and the Cloud Palace: the Gerudo run brothel next to the Gerudo run hostel respectively. The fairy caught up to him on the other side.

“Ew, what are we doing here next to this filthy place?” she asked with evident disgust.

Link smirked and teased, “You seem familiar with brothels. Curious?”

The fairy chirped back fiercely, “I have no interest in bump-bump! I hope you don't either child!”

“What in Ganon’s name is ‘bump-bump’?”

“I, uh, you know, the thing when... I’m sure you know what it is.” He did. “Are we really going inside?”

He flipped over a rotting, wooden board and smiled when he saw that his work bag was still there. Forgotten was the memory of when he acquired the keystone to his life, but Link never once underestimated its necessity throughout his life. Many different kinds of items came into and went from his ownership, but the black fabric that contained them never left or betrayed him. Large enough to fit himself inside, the bag had one flap and two metal buttons to fasten the top, and two leather straps he had personally sewn on to carry his entire life’s possessions. 

“Kind of,” answered Link, “you'll see.” He threw off his bloodied tunic and stripped down, baring his naked body to the fairy. She gasped very loudly. “What?” he asked, “Don't tell me you've never seen a boy’s junk before.”

“No …” she squeaked softly. Link crouched over to the hotel’s designated trash pile. He crouched over and began changing into the black attire that was prevalent throughout the criminal world. “Your scars...” she asked.

“Oh,” Link looked down. Of course that was why she gasped. That was why everybody gasped when they saw his face. He was never self-conscious of his damaged body until someone immediately reacted. The reminder of his long, gigantic scar that stretched from his left collar to the bottom of his right rib cage unleashed the memory of a near death experience. Even though this incident took place over four years ago, and Link knew this with certain confidence, the images flashed in his mind as vividly as they once occurred. 

Bodyguard. Mercenary. Discharged knight. Sir Mithen, or was it Sir Buono? Link may have forgotten the name of the brute who gave him the scar, but his past professions and barbaric appearance were burnt into Link’s memory. The Hebran native wore the furs of his prey over his silver armor and a helmet bearing the signature shape of a ram’s head, the symbol of the Eldin mercenary group called Din’s Shield. Though he had forgotten who the target was or how much the bounty was worth, Link had luckily managed to cut open the left side of the bodyguard’s wide neck. He was strong. So strong that his killing blow cleaved right through Link’s rusted weapon and straight into his flesh.

So why could Link only recall these specific details by heart? Because somewhere out there existed a man with a bushy moustache, a scar on his left neck, and a gap between his two front teeth, who fought under the banner of Din’s shield and would not hesitate to kill Link a second time.

Why he left Link to die alone in the alley will never be answered. After the massive opening seared across his torso, Link blacked out… could only remember waking up in the same spot where he was left, only this time open cut had turned into a corrupted wound serving burning agony as punishment for Link’s failure. Still, he never broke his promise, even if it cost him many seasons of pain and suffering. After laying there for who knows how long, the squalid, vile air and a lack of medication guaranteed the wound to fester quickly. Miraculously, Link seemed to be immune to the lethal effects of corruption, whereas untreated corruption in the smallest of cuts could swiftly take the lives of the best the Royal Guards. That was not to say that the recovery was painless. The wound was sensitive for the next season, and the resulting scar looked like a monstrous, furry leech that made his chest a permanent residence.

There were dozens of other scars that criss crossed all over Link’s torso, testaments to his ability to survive any life-threatening scenario, each with a memory as vivid as the one he had just revisited. He took one last good look at his damaged body before slipping on his short sleeved, work tunic.

It was more tattered and worn than the cream colored tunic, but the black color hid the blood stains better. He slipped on his oversized black pants and fastened his belt, where he holstered his five collected knives, to keep his pants hoisted. Even though his black cloak seemed inappropriate to wear in the summer heat, it also served as a blanket in the cooler evening, so he fastened that too around his person. Lastly, Link tied a piece of cloth over his nose and mouth to cover his face full of scars, the only thing that could unveil his anonymity.

“Link! You didn't answer my question!” reminded Miro Miro.

But Link was more concerned with his next task of scaling the circular spire. From his vantage point, the window near the top of several storied brothel was not visible. “Not now, when we're safe, I'll answer all your questions.” said Link, though in the back of his mind, he knew they may never be safe. Which meant he may never answer her questions. That made him happy.

Link walked further into the putrid alleyway and climbed up several boxes stacked against the wall of the Cloud Palace. He reached for the open, second story window above him. Instead of going through the window and entering the hostel, he jumped up and gripped the top edge of the window opening. He was then able to pull himself up to the window on the next floor. As soon as his hands found a solid grip on the bottom of the third floor window, he could hear the sounds of a Gerudo whore sheathing the lucky man who paid for her time.

The fairy shrieked as soon as she saw the couple’s love making, “Eek!” The sudden shriek jolted Link, sparking a blood rush through his veins and causing him to stumble and almost fall backward. The skinny, bearded man and his Gerudo whore both stopped and saw the masked, cloaked criminal awkwardly standing on the window.

“Get outta here!” yelled the naked patron at Link, who was already scaling his way up to the rooftop. As soon as he climbed, he had to take a minute to let his blood rush subside and let his rapid breathing slow down.

But not before he yelled at the fairy, “Why in Nayru’s name did you scream?”

“I'm sorry,” she truly sounded apologetic, but her humility was not enough to make Link calm down. His ultimate downfall was not to be at the hands of some fearsome warrior, instead it was very likely going to be attributed to the carelessness of the stupid fairy.

“Just remember that I can sell you for five silver rupees!”

“You wouldn't!”

She was right, for now. Link had his own questions for the fairy. After they were answered, maybe…

“For now. Just stay quiet.”

“Why is everyone telling me to -” Link’s sharp eyes threatened the fairy into the silence he desired.

Up ahead, there was a short chimney with a thick rope that connected the corner of the chimney to the curved exterior of the Desert Oasis. Not wanting to risk getting startled and falling from at least four stories high, Link took a precaution, “Wait for me by the bell.” He pointed upwards to a small plank with a small bell attached at the end.

The fairy did as was told without question. When Link felt that the fairy was sufficiently far away, he placed his foot on the cable. No matter how many times Link had crossed this wire, he would always feel the initial blood rush from the first wobble. All he had to do was allow his heart some time to relax and then loosen his body’s muscles before taking the next step. There was a slight wind that made the wire a little unstable. It was not the ideal weather condition to cross the wire, but enough experience could carry him across. Placing one foot in front of the other, he slowly and carefully moved across the rope. The closer he got to the middle, the wobblier the rope became. But after he passed the middle, balancing became easier.

The next step after crossing the rope was to grip the protruding rocks on the spire. Rocks were strategically placed along the wall and led him across the spire until his body was facing the opposite side of the main road, at which point the protruding rocks led him straight up the tower. The higher the altitude, the fiercer the wind became. As he scaled up the wall, his eyes were fixated on the end of a rope, which was attached to the plank near the top of the spire where Link instructed the fairy to wait. The end of the rope reached exactly where the rocks stopped protruding from wall.

Once the rope was within reach, Link let go of his right grip and pulled on the end, ringing the bell attached to the other end. He looked up and waited for one of the Ganondorf sisters to peer out and acknowledge the visitor. Half a minute later, a distant girl with blood red hair and dark skin looked down. From where Link was hanging, it was difficult to distinguish the features that were unique to this sister. But both made eye contact, giving him the permission he desired to begin climbing up the rope.

This was the hardest step in Link’s opinion. Climbing up four stories was exhausting as it was. After rigorous, rock climbing, scaling the rope would deter all but only a select few. Certain death awaited anyone who failed. It was what made this destination an ideal place to lay low, metaphorically speaking of course. Link began to feel his arms become strained and his breathing increase in depth. With each pull upward, the weight of his body felt like it was increasing.

But he finally reached the top and climbed onto the horizontal post. And just as he instructed, the fairy was waiting for him at the top, next to the window which served as the entrance to Sanctuary.

Link entered the room. The highest floor of the Desert Oasis had a comfortable breeze that perpetually blew in one window and out the other. It had no furniture due to the impracticality of moving heavy objects to this area, but it had seat cushions and rugs that covered the rough, stony floor. The Gerudo were proud of their weaving, and the beautiful tapestries hanging all around the walls were made in tribute to many aspects of their desert born culture.

He had never paid too much attention to the stories that the tapestries told, but he knew much of it had to do with Gerudo history. Link had no interest in history or fairy tales, whatever the case. His only concern was the Gerudo sitting opposite of him on the stony bench, a protrusion of the circular wall that wrapped along the perimeter, across from him.

She had the olive skin and long, straight, blood red hair tied back into a ponytail, blood red killer lips, and the long, beak-like nose just like all of her sisters. What distinguished her from the rest was her blue left eye and red right eye. Link acknowledged her, “Minja”. Her eyes lifted to acknowledge him back, and then returned her attention back to her smooth hands as they guided a whetstone slowly across her thin, curved blade.

Thankfully, Link never had the pleasure of being on the wrong side of a Gerudo scimitar, the fabled sister to death herself. The blade had probably claimed more than enough heads and limbs to populate two villages. It was said that the Gerudo blacksmiths used to behead prisoners in one swing to test their workmanship before entrusting their craft to their warrior sisters. Needless to say, the story, true or not, significantly inflated the price of their metal work past the point of what Link could dream to afford.

A large and somewhat bulbous contraption with a metal, pointed spear tip was attached to the pommel of the sword. Upon closer inspection, he saw a coil of thin flax coiled in the center of the metal contraption. The ropeshot, or the poor man’s hookshot, was a coveted tool in the criminal underworld, and its notorious price was the cause of many a tale of cunning thievery. The tip doubled as a weapon and as a grappling hook. Link almost salivated thinking about how much this tool (or weapon) could sell for on the criminal market.

“Little Cica,” the wind carried her soft voice delicately and condescendingly, as usual, “I feel like you never come by to see us anymore!”

“Given the difficult nature of reaching Sanctuary, I try to avoid it as best as I can.”

“Mmm, my little Cica must’ve been a bad boy to seek Sanctuary!” said Minja in her native tongue of mockery. Everytime her smile curled just a little more from digging into Link’s nerves, which did not make looking unamused any easier. “What crime sent you running frightened? Surely for more than just a stolen sword!”

Link fired sarcasm right back at her, “How dare you accuse me of such a petty crime! I am an honest citizen doing honest work!”

Minja let a chuckle escape from her mouth, “Oh Cica, you fib like an honest citizen.” Link hated that name more than anything. Any name that identified his person made Link unhappy, even if that name was the Gerudo word for scar. The more he heard the name, the further his face scrunched into displeasure. Minja’s crooked smile intensified, “Aww, don’t look so angry, it takes away from your cute boyish charms!” Despite being a seasoned killer of several years, Link did not have the fearsome reputation of the Gerudo bounty hunter or her sister, and he avoided looking like a cold blooded killer for that matter. Anonymity was what kept the boy alive in the hungry city.

She placed the whetstone aside and examined her polished blade. The look of satisfaction beamed from her face, and then she stood up to sheathe the blade in her sand-colored scabbard, which was nothing more than an oblong, metallic ring to hold the blade in place and a flap that covered the blade. Thin, silver coins resting on top of a red cloth covering her bosom hung from the top of her strapless top, a band that wrapped around her torso. Red baggy pants covered her bottom and flowed gently with the warm breeze.

“Well, you know the rules,” said Minja as she walked past him, “No fires.” Link nodded. “And no fighting.” Link nodded again. Both were rules that would keep him alive.

“Give my regards to Kinja,” replied Link out of courtesy. The Gerudo stepped off of the window and instantly caught the rope, ringing the bell that would alarm Link of anyone that attempted to enter.

Knowing that all the right tools were set in place, he sat on the ledge that overlooked east. Buildings of varying heights stretched off into the distance before the city’s walls cut them off. Past the walls, the only thing in sight was the steep ascent up Death Mountain. Link was still glad he could derive enjoyment from the breathtaking view, far away from any person who could ruin the moment, present company excluded.

He inhaled a deep breath of crisp, high altitude air. He was lucky to be alive. And he felt unlucky to be alive. Until the next sunrise, he could take his life for granted. He exhaled and stared out into the distance. The warmth of the summer sun felt comforting on his exposed, skin. It was certainly more refreshing that dwelling in the claustrophobic spaces he was used to.

The stupid fairy floated beside him, “From up here, the city looks so peaceful.” She wasn’t wrong. The view was always spectacular so long as you couldn’t see what was going on at ground level.

He chuckled at the irony, “From up here, yeah.”

“Do fights and killings go on all the time down below?” she asked him.

“Everywhere, someone’s being killed.”

“Why?” 

“What do you mean, why? Lots of reasons why.”

“Then list them, one by one. We have until the end of time…”

If only Link had never promised the Protector, then he could just hurl himself off the ledge and never have to spend an eternity answering this question. Link just wanted to ask his questions about his past, not lecture about every single thing that drove people to senseful violence. But, something told him that she needed the knowledge of the city more than he needed knowledge of his past. His past, whatever it was, made no difference on his present.

“Well, from the direction, we’re looking at, we can see where all the misery comes from,” he extended his index finger forward to the eastern terraced cliffs of Castle City. Dozens of layers cut into the cliff formed a jagged stairway to the top of the cliff, where three manors with spires reaching for the heavens, garrisoned with soldiers armed to their fingernails, sat on the top like an ironic beacon of morality. “Over there,” Link pointed to the top, “Those are the Dukes, and they are at the top of the food chain. They collect money from those guys over there, the Counts.” His finger moved down to the terrace just below of five equally impressive looking manors.

Together, they made up the eight great families of Hyrule: Nohansen, June, Springbock, Pilt, Viskard, Ingo, Quela, and Tabantha. “The Counts then collect money from everyone else beneath them. And anyone who doesn’t give money to the Counts or the Dukes gives money to the Crown.” Link pointed at the wall behind him.

The fairy took some time to prepare for her next question. As she contemplated, Link began recalling as many of the details of the vision he experienced. The forest. The long, blonde hair. The girl. No, the Protector. The fight. He feared that if he and the fairy conversed about current events for too long, he might forget everything.

She sighed, afraid of asking the next question, “What is money?”

“Oh boy, it’s,” how was he to explain currency, something he was not all too familiar with either? Money was one of those things that was so hard to explain because it was so ingrained with everyone’s life. “it’s how we pay for everything.”

“Er, what does ‘pay’ mean?”

“Holy Hero, how do you normally get stuff?”

“Well, back in the forest we traded something of ours if it belonged to someone else, and we were allowed to take whatever we wanted if it belonged to the forest.”

“Well, that sounds like a nice, magical fairytale land. Here, it don’t work like that. Paying means trading things or services for these colorful jewels called rupees.” How many of those traded things were instruments of war? And how many of those services involved death? Too many…

“And the rupees allow you to trade for other things?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“Then how do you get food?”

“With rupees.”

“And clothing too?”

“Yep.” If she didn’t get the idea by now, Link was going to give up all hope.

“I see. So how do you get rupees?”

“Uh, you get a job.” It was obviously more complicated than that, otherwise Link wouldn’t have to resort to catching thugs for money. “But to do that, you gotta have an apprenticeship, and to have an apprenticeship, you gotta be thirteen years old.” Link had long forgotten how old he was, but he had always assumed he had less than two years until he grew up and started to look like a teenager. However, that vision in his mind, of him and the Protector in the forest, made him question once again exactly how many years he had exactly until he reached thirteen.

“Okay, but how do YOU get rupees?” she asked.

“I already told you, I kill people,” Link expected some sort of response, but his cold-hearted words were only met with silence, “I’m astonished you have accepted my line of work!”

“No, I have not accepted it!” the fairy sternly spoke, “But I know Kokiri, like children of all races, are products of their environment. I want to know what kind of place created a monster like you.”

_ A monster like me _ , the words bounced around his head and rang in his temple loudly. And finally he let out a loud, forced laugh. “You think I’m a monster?” he stopped abruptly and locked eyes with the fairy, “You haven’t seen the men I’ve been paid to kill.”

“Um,” she hesitated for a second, “Are these people even worse than you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘worse’, they just got caught.” Optimistically, it was the only distinction between a bounty hunter and his prey. Pessimistically, the bounty hunter was just a murderer-for-hire on the Queen’s payroll. “And then my job is to kill them or catch them.”

“Are there many that get paid to kill others?” she asked next.

Link sighed, “Too many. Killing is too well paid. Anybody in an army can expect to earn at least three meals and a bed. There are thousands of city watchman that are paid to patrol the outskirts of Hyrule to kill highwaymen and the city streets to kill ruffians. That’s probably the most legal killing profession. Then there are the conscripts that lords and peers hire. The nobles of this city are allowed to use their standing armies to exact justice on anyone who has wronged their family.” The idea of murdering someone legally sounded increasingly oxymoronic the more he tried to ponder the rationale, despite his intimate familiarity with the concept.

“But, why are so many people paid to kill?” asked the fairy.

“Because people are willing to pay rupees to see others die.”

The next question followed logically, “But why?”

Link pointed his finger to the top of the cliff again, “So people can live over there.”

“But why is living there so important? Why can’t everyone just get along?”

He let out a deep sigh. He was so used to the idea that people struggled and killed for domination over others that this was simply a given to him, an unfortunate fact of life. How was he to explain a concept that was born in the minds of every Hylian citizen? And then he had to relate that concept to someone who never lived outside the forest.

“I don’t know, I didn’t make these stupid rules, okay? I was just born into it, learned it, and tried to survive as best as I could for as long as I can.”  _ Or so I thought until now _ , he reminded himself in his head. “In Hyrule Castle Dump, there are two types of people that live here. Those who fight to survive. And those who fight so they can live at the top.”

“It’s a lot to take in all in one day, but I think I’m starting to understand now,” said the fairy, to which Link responded with a relieved breath. “So which type of person are you?”

“I’m the root of all evil,” he chuckled at his own jest. Judging by her silent response, Link quickly concluded that the fairy did not understand the joke or took that sentence way too seriously. “I’m joking.”

She let out a fake laugh, “Ha. Ha ha.”

Chuckling at her innocence, he held his ripped tunic out to her, “Do you really think I look like that kind of person that can fight to live on the top? Look at my clothing. This tunic is damn near ruined,” stained in the blood of over a hundred people, a detail he deliberately left out for the fairy’s sensitive ears. Even the black fabric mask he wore over his face had holes and rips. “The weapons I got here were either stolen from jobs or looted from the dead.”

“That’s… wrong.”

“It’s not if you’re fighting to survive!” he retorted back with more yelling force than he would have liked. But the permanent laryngitis in his throat took a heavy toll from that sentence, and suddenly he began to cough uncontrollably to alleviate the painful irritation. Inhaling a large amount of smoke from the previous night did not help either. He covered his mouth as he coughed, but that was to cough the blood into the stained fabric of his glove. No need to alarm his new... acquaintance.

Suddenly, the fairy asked, “Are you okay?”

The concern took Link completely by surprise, “Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “My throat’s been damaged for a while. Fighting and killing people takes a toll on you over the years. I don’t know if you’re ready to handle any of it.”

“Not yet.” Her quivering, curious response piqued his interest. “You’re a survivor. And I know that I could never understand your struggles or what you have to do in order to survive in this place. But what I can’t understand is... if you were adapted to this harsh world and all the killing…”

A tear fell from her eye. “Then why did you save me?”


	17. Sanctuary (part 2/2)

Link looked down. He seemed troubled by the question hanging in the windy air. Rowark saved Miro Miro’s life because he had a genuinely good heart. She could not say the same for Link’s character. What possible reason did a ruthless ruffian have to save a fairy and keep her alive? “Because,” he took a deep breath, “A memory came back to me. When I saw you.” He looked into her eyes, like he was trying to recreate his memories and trance-like state during the fight.

All of a sudden, Miro Miro was no longer looking at a vicious criminal, only a Kokiri trying to remember his past, “What did you see?”

He closed his eyes to better focus the picture in his mind. “The Protector,” he answered with a whisper.

“What was happening?”

With his eyes still closed, he described, “We were fighting in the forest right by the Lost Woods. I was holding a wooden sword, and she was holding the legendary blade.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to be the Protector. I wanted to take her sword and wield it to protect the village. That’s where I was from, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, Link. Go on.”

“I could smell the flowers. I could feel the summer wind. I could feel the freedom of knowing no one was trying to kill you,” Link looked too relaxed to comfortably perch over a six story fall to his death. “What’s that called again? That feeling?”

“Home.”

Link smiled, “That one.” With Link, it was hard to tell if his smile was genuine or not. His eyes opened. The hard, noon sunlight fiercely bounced off his green pupils and pierced through Miro Miro’s soul with a strange feeling of familiarity.  _ Topah had blue eyes _ , she quietly reminded herself.

“It wasn’t her, though,” Link’s damaged eyes had a seriousness that could not betray his cold, dead voice, “I knew I was fighting that dung-headed dunghole.”

“How?”

“The Protector was right handed in my dream. But she was really left handed. I’ll never forget that.”

“What happened next?”

Link took a deep breath of the crisp air and exhaled, “I killed her.” He hung his head and looked down the wall. “I killed her…” he repeated again with a quiver in his scratchy voice. Was he crying? Was that even possible for him? “I killed her…”

“In, in your dream?”

“Yes…,” he croaked, “And… and… and she’s gone...”

“Gone, as in, actually gone?”

Solemnly, he slowly nodded. 

Then the stomach she never knew she had sank. Not the Protector. She was too kind and too pure to deserve a cruel fate. Miro Miro needed to let her “tummy” settle before she could ask any more questions, but the nausea turned into turned into overwhelming tears. She could only sputter out single word questions in between sobs, “How? Why? What happened?”

He turned his head away from her again, removed his black hood and his face mask, and revealed his ugly, scarred face to the sun. The sun’s light was strong enough to catch glimpses of gold hidden in the grime and blood that covered his short hair. Tears began welling in his green eyes. He sighed and paused for a long time. Link’s brow furrowed, debating on the answer mentally. “No,” he finally said, “I can’t. It’s… it’s too, painful…”

Miro Miro could not tell what emotion she felt exactly, but she could feel incredible sadness weighing heavily in her body and in her mood. “It’s okay,” she whispered back. It would be inconsiderate of her to ask Link to relive a traumatic moment in his life.

“Her death,” he said as he wiped a tear from his eye, a tender reminder that he had a heart underneath his damaged exterior, “is my only memory of her. What was she like?”

Miro Miro hesitated for a heartbeat in order to digest all of her welling emotions. She supposed the best way to honor her memory was to talk about the Protector, “Do you remember anything about her?”

“I have a terrible memory,” was Link’s sensible answer. Memories were things that mortals clung to so that they could live on through their friends and family. If she had spent one hundred and fourteen seasons and counting away from home, then it seemed very likely that Link could have been living in Hyrule Castle City for an even longer period of time. She could not feel angry at him for forgetting the people he grew up with in the forest.

“Well,” she started, “She was the Protector, so she had a big responsibility placed on her shoulders.” Link nodded and smiled, “She had a very bright and cheery personality, and she was loved by all. I could go on.”

“Please do,” he sniffed. Link’s encouragement surprised Miro Miro.

Armed with his approval, she perked up and began her rant, “For starters, all the girls didn’t like her. They would make fun of her behind her back for having a boy’s job, but really they were jealous that all the boys wanted to spend time with her.”

“She was beautiful,” Link chimed in, “and she could swing a sword better than anyone.” Miro Miro delighted in the fact that Link was giving some effort to remembering his Kokiri past.

“Oh most definitely!” Miro Miro laughed, “She woke up early every morning to begin her training. And then twice a day she would teach a one hour class of ‘sword art’. When half the boys were all missing from the village, we all knew what time it was. Topah was always the first to arrive and the last to leave her daily classes. And the Protector was always so patient with him when they trained together. She used to guide Topah’s every step and correct every mistake, all while I chatted with the Protector’s fairy guardian.

Link smiled and nodded, like he was happily absorbing the information. “What was her name?” he asked.

“The protector’s fairy guardian was named Renna.”

“No. Her name,” Link corrected, “The Protector’s name.”

“Oh.” She had to pause and think about that for a second. Just as she could not remember what Topah looked like, she could not remember the Protector’s name. What was it? She felt so embarrassed for not knowing.

“It’s fine if you don’t remember, I don’t think anyone called her by her actual name. I was just wondering if you remembered it or not,” he said disappointedly, but the scars on his face made it hard for Miro Miro to see through to his emotions altogether. “Tell me more about... the Kokir-whatever-they’re-called,” said Link as he yawned.

“The Kokiri?” she corrected.

“Yeah, them.”

Where to even start? “Well, the Kokiri are children from the forest. They are born from the Great Deku Tree, and they never grow old.”

He looked up instantly, like he had suddenly awoken. “They don’t age?” His breathing picked up. “They stay children forever?”

“That’s correct."

A little light twinkled behind his eyes, like he had just connected a bunch of dots in his mind, “Huh… I always wondered about myself. All the other Links grew up, except for me.” Other Links? Did he mean to say other children? Were there others that shared his name? As informative as Link had been thus far, each answer only produced more vexing questions. “How old am I exactly?” he asked her.

“Well, you must have been alive before I got lost in the forest,” reasoned Miro Miro, “which means you must be at least twenty eight years old.”

Deep thoughts ran through his mind, at least that was how Miro Miro interpreted his long silence. “Twenty eight years,” he muttered quietly to himself, “Twenty eight years. I’d forgotten so much. It’s good to know for sure I wasn’t born here. I must have came to the city many years ago, but I don’t remember why though.” How in the world did a Kokiri find himself so far from home? More importantly, who was he? Miro Miro searched through the faces in her memory bank and attached each name with a face as best as she could. But there was no one she remembered named Link. The name had a familiar ring, but it seemed to be attached to memories from over fifty years ago. “So twenty eight years before I lived here in this dump, I lived in a village that worshipped a big talking tree?”

“He’s NOT a ‘big talking tree’, he is the Great Deku Tree!” Miro Miro fired back passionately, “A ‘big talking tree’ does not give counsel when times are dire, nor does he protect you from the dangers of the outside world! The Great Deku Tree was the nicest father you could have ever wanted. His heart overflowed with kindness even for those who wished him and his children harm. He was our protector and our provider.”

Link huffed, “Sorry, all right? Sheesh.”

Tears streamed out of Miro Miro’s eyes in anger, “He’s your father! I know not which Kokiri you once were, but no matter what, I know he was your father! He once gave you shelter, gave you food, and gave you love! He loved each and all of his children equally! He loved you, and he loved me like he loved the Protector, and Mido, in spite of his foul disposition at choice times!”

“Who is Mido?”

“He was leader who ran the day to day duties of managing the village…”

He was the leader of the Kokiri Forest, or the supreme overlord, which was what he preferred to be called. He had five close friends who helped him run administrative operations. He was kind of a bossy person and a jerk, but he also had a great responsibility placed on his shoulders, even more so than the Protector did. Kokiri Forest’s population had risen to over three hundred. Not only was he responsible for their well being, but he and his close ring of friends were the only ones who were allowed contact with the outside world to protect the secrecy of the forest.

Miro Miro took no notice of Link as she continued babbling about Kokiri Forest’s open and free society, the playdates, and the festivals. Completely oblivious to his dozing off, she continued her lengthy lecture, “Every beginning of the tendo, everyone in the village would gather to the village center and celebrate with a big bonfire. And then there was a great big festival at the beginning of every season! The children would spend the entire previous day preparing for the festival, and then they would celebrate with dancing, music, and the best smelling food you could ever think of! The seasonal celebrations were always my favorite! Do they celebrate seasons here in Hyrule Castle City? Well, I hope they do…”

At least she was having fun babbling on. Miro Miro eventually found out that Link was carelessly asleep while sitting on a window several stories up. She gathered a deep inhale and unleashed a scream, “HEY! Are you listening?!”

Link jolted awake and then turned his head downwards to examine how close he was to death. And then turned around with a deadly glare in his eye, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.”

Oddly, Miro Miro knew she would feel bad if Link had indeed fallen to his death. She quietly apologized, “I’m sorry.”

Link’s body pivoted around and retracted back into the room. The cone shaped ceiling combined with the extensive diameter made the room seem gigantic. Beautiful and colorful tapestries were draped along the room’s perimeter. Part of the circular wall jutted outwards and created bench space for Link to lay on and pass out. He curled into a ball, back facing away from the wall, on the soft, pillowy cushions covering the stone bench.

Miro Miro continued her lecture about the beautiful home they came from until she noticed Link was lying still, unresponsive to her lecturing. Maybe even asleep.

Link looked like he needed the rest, and Miro Miro now had a chance to examine the boy more closely as he slept. He sure liked to be dressed in black for some reason. His black cloak was completely shredded, but it seemed like he continued wearing it because he liked the hood. A stretchy black cloth extended over his nose and mouth. Upon closer look, there were blood stains crusted over the mouth area.

She felt creeped out for examining Link as he was sleeping. Since she figured Link was fast asleep, she had all the time to observe the room pick apart all the features and details of each tapestry. The one she stopped in front of depicted a Gerudo King standing above dozens of women groveling before him. The sun behind his back had the facial features of a Gerudo woman, was she a Goddess of some sort? Sand dunes highlighted the barren nature of their desert home. Was this man Ganondorf? Red beard with bronze skin, it had to be him.

To quell any doubt in her mind, the tapestry to the right depicted Ganondorf holding his hand up with a glowing Triforce in his left hand. The Triforce of power chose him to go forth from the desert and conquer. But he was not alone in this endeavor. The rest of his Gerudo followers were shown standing guard in front of a fortress looking building. Ganondorf’s ambition to conquer Hyrule was his and his alone.

The next tapestry showed Ganondorf doing battle with the Hero of Time outside the castle. The weaved depiction of the master sword and the Kokiri hat was unmistakable. Everyone knew this story, or history rather. There was a Gerudo, wearing pink Gerudo pants and a white crop top, standing behind the Hero against Ganondorf. Was this the Sage of Spirit Nabooru? And if so, why was only she depicted and not any of the other sages?

In the next tapestry, Nabooru stepped up to lead the Gerudo after Ganondorf’s demise, and she stood with her left foot leaning on the edge of a cliff overlooking her new crowd of followers. But there was something amiss. Some of the women in this tapestry were colored gray, but in all the tapestries before, the Gerudo were depicted as having one skin tone. In the tapestries afterwards, this division in skin color apparently became the theme. What started as skirmishes between the two groups eventually turned into war.

Until finally, the gray skinned group was forced to leave the desert. That was the last tapestry of the tale. What became of the gray Gerudo was unknown. The tragedy evoked much sadness within her. Did people truly fight and kill each other over the difference in skin color? The idea of killing for survival was a matter she could grow to handle. But the idea of killing over a difference in skin color left a rotten feeling in her gut.

Link tossed and grunted as he slept. “Link?” checked Miro Miro, to which there was no response.

He continued tossing and turning violently and began muttering with each breath,  “Fifty. Thirty. Forty five. Thirty five. Forty. Five thousand… Fifty. Thirty. Forty five…”


	18. 28 Years Ago (part 1)

The village horn of danger filled the air with dread. Kokiri poked their heads out their windows stepped out of their homes to see what could possibly warrant the horn to be blown for the first time ever. Snowfall from the previous day covered the ground with a thin film of white snow. The full moon made the ground gleam like a sea of crystals. The beginning of the winter season dropped the temperature gradually, but that seemed to bother no one. The imminent threat of danger was present through everyone’s mind, not the cold air.

Perhaps it was a mistake. Only the Protector had access to the horn, and if she believed that the village was in danger, then the warning must have been serious. Dozens of Kokiri closed their windows, but Topah instead grabbed his trusty wooden sword and ran outside. This was the moment he was waiting for. All that training from the Protector, all the time spent carving and crafting his weapon, would finally be used to defend his home from the first attack ever. The grip on the wooden handle tightened as Topah anticipated the imminent danger.

But who could attack the Kokiri? The Great Deku Tree isolated the Kokiri Village by expanding the forest outwards. Mido and his friends were the only ones who interacted with travelers and merchants outside of the village so that the village’s location could remain a protected secret. That only left the Deku, who were the only people to regularly visit the village for the seasonal celebrations.

Another horn sounded, but this time it wasn’t the Kokiri horn of danger. The ominous, mysterious sound blared from the direction of the Lost Gate. The distant sound of trampling could be faintly heard too. Topah’s blood froze. So too did Miro Miro’s. Smoke began to poke through the forest tops, and the smoke was approaching too fast for the disaster to be a raging forest fire.  _ What was going on? _ seemed to be the question on everyone’s face.

The trampling grew louder and louder, making each heartbeat feel like a thousand bells were being pounded in his heart. A fairy’s unseen cry escaped from the forest into the village, “Bokoblins! Bokoblins!”

Supposedly angry creatures as tall as a Kokiri, Bokoblins were one of many dangerous neighbors of the Kokiri. But because the Great Deku Tree was successful at keeping the swarm of invasive threats away, not a single Kokiri knew what they looked like. Some fairies mothers who had come from outside of the village would describe them at the bonfires, such as green, wrinkly skin with a hooked nose, red skin with miniscule eyes and droopy ears, fat and gray with long ears; the inconsistent details made it hard to put an image with words.

Another deafening horn filled the soundscape. The trampling had stopped. Birds were fleeing and calling out danger. Every heart in every Kokiri’s chest stopped simultaneously for what seemed like five, long heartbeats.

Arrows on fire whistled through the air and struck the dry foliage of the tree houses. The panic spread more quickly than the fire did. The Kokiri instinctively began running for the ladders and the stairs to escape the death trap that was once their homes. The fairies, panicking as well, did their best to guide the Kokiri in orderly fashion to no avail. Children got hurt on their way down. One was pushed over a third story bridge and would not get up after she landed. Her guardian fairy dove towards the body of the black haired girl and tried to wake her up. When that came to no avail, the fairy glowed into a bright light and melted her energy into the sister, who then stood up once again.

Instead of getting stuck in traffic, Topah used his favorite way down which was by climbing down the tree directly across from him, so too did many other of the athletic types.  “Topah! This is no time for doing anything reckless!” Miro Miro called out to the eager child. It was too late. When that fire behind his cool blue eyes ignited, there was no stopping him. He swung from branch to branch just like he always did, with one hand to climb and the other to hold his wooden sword. Miro Miro sighed and powerlessly followed him down.

As soon as he touched ground, Topah gripped his sword with both hands. Those who were not panicking and running around were gathered in the village square, looking up at the Lost Gate for the first sign of the enemy.

The first Bokoblins poked their heads, many different colors and shapes of heads, just over the cliff’s lip. They were small, humanoid creatures with ugly faces, and their diverse appearances almost made the tiny army look like a dancing rainbow. But despite the variety in their outward appearances, each wore a loincloth, each had war paint, and each carried a club, or a net. They formed a tight line, shoulder to shoulder, and began to hop up and down and whoop at the Kokiri.

Then the big Bulblin strolled in riding his Bullos, a furry creature as big as a horse, but had a big ugly snout and two long tusks. The fairies said that these blins were unmistakable. Green skin, built like a man, and his distinguished Bullos tusk helmet, a cone shaped piece of metal that erected two gigantic tusks, even longer than his Bullos’, straight up. He held a large, wooden club with jagged, metal strips wrapped around the tip.

Pointing at the crowd of children and roaring so forcefully that Topah could smell the stink of his breath from such a great distance, “ _ Take them alive! _ ” the evil creature commanded using fractured Deku to communicate, “ _ For every child that dies, I shall take one of your heads! _ ”

His war cry echoed throughout the village space, and the Bokoblins began to climb, or tumble, down the steep cliff. The cliff was not tall by any means, falling down could at worst break an ankle. The Bokoblins that safely reached the ground began their charge forward with their clubs poised to strike.

The Kokiri began to repel the assault with their slingshots. Deku nuts flew past Topah’s ears and blinded the approaching Bokoblins. Concentrated flashes of light in the enemies’ eyes were devastating on the enemy when aimed at the cliff base. In great waves, the blins continued tumbling down the cliff, and those who fell blindly were slow to get up, or did not at all. But alas, these were non lethal effects, and those who did eventually get up picked up their weapons and slowly began their assault on the village.

This was where the several dozen Kokiri appeared in battle with hand crafted wooden shields and weapons. Topah followed the crowd and built up as much courage as he could muster in his heart. Each step brought him closer to his potentially last moments of his existence. Not a single thought was made in consideration of his life. Only that he had friends and a village to protect.

The biggest Kokiri of the group, Curry, stood at almost a head taller above all the others. With his unusually large stature, it was only natural for him to lead the charge. When Curry got close enough, he took a gigantic forehand swing and landed the dulled blade squarely on the crevice between a Bokoblin’s neck and collar. Next, he used his shield arm to knock away any Bokoblin too close to his left.

Topah’s first action to follow Curry’s inspiring attack was to swing his two handed sword horizontally, making use of the extensive reach and crack the wooden blade across the face of his first foe. The next, blue skinned Bokoblin behind his felled compatriot laggedly reoriented himself as he stood up from the fall, and he could not raise his weapon in time top prevent Topah from striking the top of his head with Topah’s blunt, heavy weapon. Not heavy enough nor sharp enough to puncture skin, but certainly enough to crush an extremity beyond usage.

There were more coming. The longer it took for the Kokiri warriors to knock down the initial wave of attackers, the longer the second wave of attackers had to recover and push the assault forward. Topah would not retreat a step! With renewed vigor, he prepared to another strike to down another foe.

But a Bokoblin saw the incoming attack and raised his club, stopping the momentum of the sword completely. Topah tried again, but this time diagonally from the other side. The Bokoblin raised his club to block the attack again, but that left his belly open. And just like the Protector drilled with him, Topah shuffled his back foot up, raised his lead leg, and thrust his foot out, sending his enemy backward.

The Kokiri was about to follow up his kick with a downward strike on the fallen body, but he felt wood crack across his side, and before he had time to recover, another hit knocked his head across.

Miro Miro cried out, “Topah! Get out of there!” but she wasn’t sure if she got through to him.

He fell over onto all fours. The painful blow to the head left a terrible, dizzying headache. His concussed mind was seeing double. Two Miro Miro’s floated in front of him and were yelling something at him. As the two fairies drew closer and closer, her voice became clearer and clearer, “Say something!” until the two merged into one, panicking Miro Miro screaming, “Follow my voice!” He did as was told without thinking.

Curry was faring no better. As big as he was, there was simply no way he could fight dozens of Bokoblin at a time. As Topah followed Miro Miro towards safety, wherever that may be, he looked over to Curry and saw a pile of colored cretins on top of the poor child. Topah himself had three Bokoblins in quick pursuit. Seeing his fellow Kokiri go down drained his nerve. There were too many. The blue Bokoblin charged forth with his weapon raised. Topah’s courage had fled like all the rest of the Kokiri at that moment. He dropped his sword so he could retreat faster from the onslaught.

His foot suddenly caught a rock. He tripped over and slid across the snowy ground. “Come on Topah!” Miro Miro flew in to rescue her companion by pestering the oncoming Bokoblin’s face. It did little to slow down the creature with bloodshot eyes as red as his skin. Miro Miro watched in horror as the Bokoblin swung his club downward at Topah’s ankles, but breathed relief when Topah retracted his foot just in time.

He picked himself up off the ground and went back to retreating, Miro Miro was only too happy to follow him. But suddenly he stopped.

_ She is here _ .

Like a mother running to protect her children, the Protector emerged from the main path cutting through the village with the Kokiri Sword in her hand. She armed herself with a wooden shield like all the rest, but her blade was the one capable of ending life. She dashed past Topah to meet his pursuers head on.

The olive Bokoblin had no choice but to engage her with a hungry look in his eyes. As he cocked his club back, the Protector already leaped forth and began her attack. The Kokiri blade’s long reach and wide girth reached her foe’s throat and severed it before the Bokoblin even had a chance to react.

_ No _ . Topah and several Kokiri gaped at her unexpected decision. She was willing to face her fate as a Skull Kid in order to protect her village. She reaffirmed that decision again when she swung her sword around and split open another Bokoblin’s leather helmet and anything underneath it.

Two more invaders approached the Protector and recklessly lunged for an attack, but the Protector’s superior footwork carried her out of harm’s way. As she spun around, her sword hand followed the twist of her torso, forcing the upward blade right into flesh.

A third Bokoblin charged at her. She lifted her foot and kicked it straight into the attacker’s stomach, sending the Bokoblin tumbling backwards into another. By the time the other was turning around, the Protector was already in mid swing. With an exerted, “Hyaah!” the Protector separated the Bokoblin’s head from his neck cleanly. With another, the other’s head was also separated.

Now she had the other Blins’ attention. At first, three began to cautiously circle around her. And then there were five. Then eight more joined in and became aggressive. But no matter how many surrounded the Protector, she would cut through flesh, and her agile movements made her untouchable. She danced around each attack and countered each with fatal combinations. Scores joined in to take down the fearsome killer. Dozens fell. But the Protector could not sustain her onslaught forever; this much was known to Topah.

The rest of the defeated Kokiri volunteers were fleeing from the carnage, or being dragged away. The Bokoblins sent in two groups: the first group had clubs and beat their victims until they could no longer walk, and the second group of three had nets and followed the assault by nabbng the downed Kokiri. Aside from the Kokiri Sword, the wooden weapons and the slingshots made no impact against the assault. The defenseless Kokiri could do little more than run from the Bokoblins’ fearsome clubs and sheer numbers.

The Protector did not need to be reminded of the consequences of failure and death. A downward slash almost caught her off guard, but her shield deflected the attack just in time, allowing her, just as she had once shown Topah, to thrust the tip of her sword into the exposed belly of the beast. No one knew that the Protector, let alone anyone, was even capable of such efficient killing. Quickly dispatching another three attackers within a single heartbeat, the Protector unintentionally turned her back to a scrappy looking brawler charging straight in.

By the time she felt his arms locked together, it was too late. The stick thin, blue Bokoblin with mousy ears drove her into the ground. She tried to wriggle free, even stabbing the blin holding her. More of his comrades began to dogpile her until she could no longer move underneath the crushing weight, and only her head was exposed.

Topah anxiously watched the big Bulblin leader ride towards the pile of Bokoblins and unmount from his Bullos. Up close, the amazing size, standing over twice Topah’s height, and the mean looking two front teeth protruding from his underbite petrified all of the Kokiri into submission. He walked over to his next foe casually and swung his stone club a couple times on the way, whetting his appetite for blood. This was going to be it for the Protector, if Topah didn’t have anything to say about it. He scanned the field for anything to throw at the enormous leader...

Like the unused Deku nut lying next to a deceased Kokiri brother. His name was Rundo, and they had participated in the Deku dance season round. Though tears suddenly gushed out of eyes at the realization he would never see Rundo laugh and play again, Topah would have grieved over this loss longer had he not remembered that the Protector was in real, imminent danger. He crawled over to the Deku nut and swiped it from the ground.

When he rose up onto his two feet, the expert thrower took aim for the dogpile of Bokoblins. Topah was no stranger to throwing Deku Nuts, and his decades of playing Kokiri sports guided the projectile exactly where he wanted it to go.

FLASH! The harsh light was not as bad from Topah’s distance, but everyone within the critical radius of the flash was groaning in pain. The big Bulblin leader reeled back, covered his eyes, and roared fiercely, instilling a terror to every soul in his vicinity. Topah had a closing window opportunity to rush in.

The Protector was also temporarily incapacitated, so Topah had to dash past the other blinded victims and guide her out on his shoulders.

She rubbed her eyes one last time and then looked at him. “Thanks, that unpleasantly helpful!” Once they recovered, she turned her attention back to the Bulblin leader. If he went down, the rest would scatter. “Topah,” she said to him as she regained her posture and readied her mind for the battle, “You need to get out of here.”

“But you need me!” protested an eager Topah, who was also terrified to his bone. But if the Protector was not willing to back down, then neither was he.

The Protector shook her head and gently placed her right hand on his shoulder, “No, I need you to be safe more than anything right now. It is the only way I can focus on winning. Run for the Great Deku Tree. He will keep you safe. And thank you for saving me!” She beckoned Topah to leave and picked up the Kokiri blade once more. Then she turned to lead another one-girl assault on the invaders’ leadership.

“Hey you! Keese dung! I gotta bone to pick with you!” screamed the Protector threateningly at the Blin leader. He grunted with amusement and snarled. The last Miro Miro ever saw of the Protector was when the group of Bokoblin pawns surrounded her to prepare for the big battle.

Miro Miro had other problems and grabbed her companion’s attention again, “Topah! We need to get out of here!” He whipped around and followed her as she flew down the familiar path to get to the Great Deku Tree.

He failed. His failure to help his friend and mentor meant that she was going to die. Topah cursed himself for being so helpless. The feelings of guilt and doubt grew the further he ran away from the Protector. It felt like a growing weight on his heart. Then the first tears began streaming downward. His run slowed into a walk as he became more occupied with expelling his emotions.

And then suddenly he lost the will to walk. He just wanted to cry and wish all the bad guys would go away. What had now grown into an inferno was consuming everything that the Kokiri built over the past hundred years. Two Bokoblins took turns breaking a Kokiri sister’s legs before dragging her away. Cries of pain fell on deaf ears. All around, the destruction and chaos rapidly exterminated everything that was once called home.

Topah started to bawl. He wanted the nightmare to be over. Tears gushed down his face, and his cry halted Miro Miro in her tracks, “What now!? Come on! We gotta get to the Great Deku Tree!” But no matter how urgent she sounded, Topah would not budge. He shook his head and cried even louder.

That was when Miro Miro noticed that a bunch of Bokoblin heads turn towards Topah.  _ Uh oh _ , she thought to herself. She had to think of something fast.

“Um, Topah, now is not the time to cry,” Miro Miro’s calmer voice was still not enough to make the boy cease his tears. Perhaps she could distract him from his thoughts? “Do you want to play hide and seek?” 

The child slowed his crying down and nodded his head. His frown instantly and innocently curled into a cheery smile, “Okay!” She could always rely on Topah’s favorite game to instantaneously change his mood.

“Okay, follow me,” Miro Miro began to lead Topah away from the approaching Bokoblins. But as soon as Topah started walking away from them, the Bokoblins started running. Miro Miro needed to speed up.

Topah looked behind for one heartbeat and panicked upon realizing he was being pursued. He knew he was in danger this time, so he quickened his pace. “Miro Miro, where are we hiding?”

“Go into the woods!” The dense woods that were meant to provide a natural boundary would now hopefully be Miro Miro’s one chance of losing their pursuers. However, she was about to do the unthinkable, and Topah needed to know that, “I’m going to count to one hundred. Hide as best as you can! I am going to keep the bad guys away from you.”

Topah began to cry again, “Miro Miro, I want to go home!”

“Shh, it’s okay,” she whispered, “we’ll all be home by the time I come back to find you!”

“Noo! Don’t leave me!” he tearfully pleaded to her.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe. If I follow you, my light is going to give away your hiding spot. I’m going to get help so we can come back and find you, and then we can go home.” The boy sniffled and nodded his head. “I will find you! Fairy’s promise!” Topah nodded. “Okay, go hide! One… two… three…”

That was Topah’s cue to turn and run. “Four… Five… Six…” Miro Miro zipped through the trees, not thinking about where she was, as long as the Bokoblins were following her it did not matter. As long as she heard the Bokoblin sniveling behind her and footsteps encroaching, she would continue to fly forward.

Night turned into day. Miro Miro could clearly see in front of her, and when she turned around to see if the Bokoblins were still following her, she counted three still jogging briskly on her trail. They simply would not quit! She kept her course and tried zig zagging a path through the trees, but it was no use. The footsteps may have slowed down, but they never stopped coming after her.

Day turned into night, back to day, and then back to night. Tendos passed. The footsteps never relented. At some point, the fairy stopped checking behind her. As long as the sound of feet followed her, she knew she had to get away. After more tendos of being chased, the sound soon faded into likeness of white noise. She could no longer tell whether she was being chased or not.

Only when she finally looked around to check and see if the Bokoblins had continued following her did Miro Miro realize that she was staring at nothing but trees, and she had no idea where she was.


	19. Bounty Hunted

Link tossed and turned as the nightmare raged in his head. The powerful golden sun hit the ground squarely, heating the stone floor and producing a comforting warmth that finally allowed the bounty hunter to close his eyes and rest.

Squeaky, high pitched voices from the past inserted itself into Link’s dreams, “ _ Forty! Thirty! Forty five! _ ” Each time the phrase was repeated, a different number was used. A phrase that meant nothing to him when he first heard the words. Now, things were different, and his life depended entirely on those numbers. Though Link had long forgotten the number placed over his head long ago, his unconscious mind recklessly dug through his troubled past just to find out. Just like the annoying fairy did.

Her voice jolted the boy awake, “Link, someone’s coming!” He sat up, and listened through the sound of quiet winds. There was no bell ring. She could have been alerted to a smelly gas that happened to waft through, but Link felt the hairs on his skin erect; something was off. Fight or flight instincts were triggered, and he wasted no time in readying himself for the incoming threat.

A high pitched whir followed by a loud clinking sound of metallic impact immediately preceded the Gerudo who launched past the entrance and then landed gracefully on the hanging, wooden beam. Then a second Gerudo landed right behind. Her sister. They had shot their ropeshots at the landing beam to bypass the rope and the bell. They were armed, and they meant business.

As soon as the second sister landed on the beam, the Ganondorf twins promptly entered the circular room and quickly flanked the boy. Swiveling his head back and forth was going to inevitably get him killed, so he backstepped to minimize his disadvantaged angle. Getting cornered was going to have to be his only option.

The twins both wore the same armor and were nearly identical. Both wore steel-enforced vambraces, fitted leather pauldrons, and just enough fabric to proudly display their identical tattoos yet look barely modest. The one and only anatomical difference between them were their eyes. Kinja had a bright blue, left eye, and her right had pupils as red as blood. Minja had the left red and the right blue. Or was it the other way around?

More important than the sisters’ eye colors was their weapon choice. Minja had her trademark scimitar-ropeshot hybrid in her dominant left hand and a sleek, curved dagger in her right. Kinja wielded her scimitar in her right, her dominant hand, and aimed the conventional, handheld ropeshot with her left at Link’s head. Everything about the Gerudo’s fighting style and weapon choice was made for taking out individual targets because desert warfare was not kind to those who traveled in large, organized groups.

He brushed his fingers against the handles of the various kitchen knives tucked away in his belt. Five. But they were no use here. He needed to get close enough before they could become useful. The waiting game forced extra blood through his veins.

Minja began the mocking, “Little Cica, I’m sorry it has to end like this.”

Link shrugged calmly against the anxiety of his blood rush.

The other twin found his gesture unamusing and laughed. “ _ This one is worth forty five hundred? _ ” said Kinja in her native Gerudo tongue. When he heard the bounty over his head, he felt a booming memory resonate inside him. “ _ Easiest money I’ll ever make _ .”

“ _ Don’t underestimate him _ ,” Minja cautioned, “ _ He took down Hroth the Fat by himself _ .” That was a name Link still heard on the lips of the pub patrons to this day, even though the man had been dead for five years. Most people thought it was an inside job. Minja knew better.

Link’s eyes were transfixed on Minja, who looked ready to pounce like a lioness, but his eyes had to focus on Kinja’s ropeshot being aimed at his head at the same time. Staying calm was the last thing the body wanted to do. Link breathed in and out through his nose as slowly as he could in defiance of his racing heart. There was nothing to analyze about these Gerudo warriors. Any assumptions made about their capabilities was going to get him killed. That did not mean he did not have a plan.

Kinja then asked, “ _ Does he deserve Aracksheyn? _ ” It was a difficult word to translate into Hylian, but it was a phrase that meant a challenge to a duel to the death. The Gerudo may have been thieves, bandits, and brigands historically, but they at least had culture attached to their way of life.

Minja looked at Link dead in the eye as her lips creeped into a smile and spoke as if speaking to him, “ _ Not this time. _ ” Insulting. But these words were coming from an honorless host who broke her own house rule to claim a bounty.

“Oh come on!” Link whined, “I’m worth forty five hundred, and you won’t do me the honor?”

_ Clink! _

Before anyone could ask Link how he could understand Gerudo, the ropeshot’s arrow-like head fired straight towards him. As soon as Link heard the clink, he ducked under the incoming missile, but its speed was slightly quicker than his reaction time, and he felt a sharp but weak pain in his cheek as the metal projectile grazed by his face and seared his skin. Now was his opportunity to close the distance and engage the one who fired the ropeshot.

_ No, it’s not going to be that easy _ , he thought as he stopped his forward charge abruptly and turned to see what the twin was about to do. Sure enough, she too had her ropeshot on her sword aimed and ready to fire.

_ Clink! _

The ropeshot’s head darted straight for Link’s mid belly, but he jumped backwards in time. But before he had any time to reposition himself, Minja launched herself forward to catch the boy off guard. He jumped back to avoid the first, downward slash, and then prepared to slip past her next slash, which never came. Instead, he felt Minja’s leg drive into his exposed chest, which felt like a seasoned knight swinging a metal mace to his side. The power in her very muscular thighs and hips sent the boy flying like a ragdoll into the wall.

The impact upon hitting the stone bench further aggravated what Link was sure was a broken rib. The surge of pain through his chest heavily restricted his ability to breathe. It felt like an imaginary sword had permanently lodged itself into the right side of his chest, and every time he inhaled, Link could feel its sharp, pointed edge plunge into his betrayed lungs. Worst of all, he had no time to recuperate.

He quickly rolled off the bench and scrambled to his feet. He was expecting to hear the ropeshot fire again, but in the heartbeat it took to get to his feet, there was nothing. They had not advanced on him at all.

Standing to his left, Minja was aiming her ropeshot with her crystal blue eye at his legs. Link had time to consider the oddity that she was opting to cripple him. But the focus of his mind was on the sharp pain coming from each breath. Each breath had to be shallow. Link withdrew two knives from his belt: a meat cleaver in his left and a bread cutter in his right, neither blade ideal for defending against a Gerudo sword. His only hope was to get close enough where the blades and ropeshots couldn’t reach.

Kinja raised her ropeshot and fired.

_ Clink! _

Link already dove forward as soon as she raised her arm. The shot missed, allowing him to safely roll to an advantageous position. From here, all he had to do was turn and tackle her legs to the ground. But all that came to pass as soon as he heard the second rope shot fire. His survival instincts guided his second roll around Kinja’s backside.

The Gerudo in proximity swiveled around and gracefully followed the turn with her blade fully extended. The unbelievable skill and speed allowed Link less than heartbeat to move out of the way. Blocking or parrying a Gerudo-forged scimitar with a meat cleaver and a bread cutter was  suicide.

He sidestepped the slash, fighting his urge to cede any of his hard fought distance. But Kinja pivoted backwards, creating the space necessary for her next attack, and unleashed another slash. Link had no choice but to backstep. After regaining his composure, he turned to check on Minja.

_ Clink! _

The ropeshot fired its head right at his feet, so he jumped backwards. She intentionally missed, which meant that was the decoy shot to set up Kinja’s turn with the ropeshot. But Kinja opted not to use her distance weapon, and again decided to use her sword.  _ Something is off _ , he thought as he jumped backwards to avoid the swing.

Two more swings followed after that attack. He jumped out of the way, but after the first jump, the boy could begin to feel his body straining to keep up and his lungs fighting through pain to draw precious air. Time was not on his side. And drawing a tactical plan in the midst of a battle was not easy to do while ducking underneath a backhand swing.

Kinja followed through her sword swing with a roundhouse kick. Her warrior leg swung through the air horizontally, and Link was not prepared. He tucked in his elbow to protect his already broken chest and planted his two feet, absorbing all of the leg’s impact into his shoulder. How the kick did not tear his arm off he would never know, for the Gerudo’s shin bone must have been made of Goron steel.

The force of the kick was too much for Link feet to maintain balance. His wounded rib screamed in pain as he fell over onto his knee.  _ It’s over _ , he thought in his head. In his vulnerable state, escape was impossible from the swift, fatal strike of death’s sister. In one clean technique, Kinja twisted, spun around, and fired her heel into Link’s stomach, knocking his body onto the hard, unyielding ground.

“LINK!” the fairy cried.

The overwhelming pain made his limbs feel useless. He had to fight his own body weight to make it up to his knee. The air had been kicked out of Link’s already broken ribs, and the internal stab wound inside his lungs suffocated him harshly. If the ropeshot in Minja’s hand fired, Link was ready to face death finally. No stupid promise or stupid amount of willpower could dig Link out of this conundrum. Like countless times before in the ten years that he had lived in Hyrule Castle Dump, Link knelt at the mercy of his opponent, with no way out. At least he could say this time that the end of his story was written by two, beautiful Gerudo warriors.

_ Clink! _

The ropeshot’s head caught Link on the outside of his raised thigh, and he collapsed upon the floor once the ropeshot pulled the head out of his leg. He laid there, feeling like the butt end of a joke told between predators playing with their food. The pain spread throughout his body and felt paralyzing. He was unsure of the depth of the wound, but getting up at this point seemed pointless.

“ _ I told you it was easy money _ ,” said Kinja as she walked up to a downed Link, who was focusing on breathing slowly and painlessly.

“Snar ust rillio.” Kinja’s voice echoed in his head.  _ Not this time _ , she said _. _ All of a sudden, the twins’ strange tactics made sense. There was a reason why he was never given the proper dueling rites.

Armed with the new revelation, Link had one last gamble to make. He continued to grunt as he did before, but since the blood rush had helped hide the pain, the grunts were just sounds made to convince the Ganondorf twins they had won.

When Kinja stopped in front of him, she was close enough for Link could smell her feet, which was exactly where he wanted them to be. He took a deep breath and lunged forth with his unwounded leg. His hands wrapped around Kinja’s heels, and when his shoulder found the bottom of her shin, he used the power in his good leg to drive the Gerudo down into the ground.

As her body toppled like a tall tree being cut down, the spry boy scrambled on top of her. Once her body made impact with the ground, the Gerudo sat up, trying to get away. And then she raised her ropeshot and quickly pulled the trigger.

_ Clink! _

Had Link not moved his head immediately before the ropeshot fired, there would have been a sharpened piece of metal buried in his face. A surge of blood flooded through his body as it realized how close he had just come to death. His eyes then transfixed upon Kinja’s extended left arm, Link’s next target.

“ _ Sister! _ ” cried Minja, who knew her sister was in trouble. Link had less than two heartbeats of total control before this rare window of opportunity closed.

First, Link’s hands had to control her wrist while the ropeshot was reeling back the head. Second, he had to be conscious of the deadly scimitar, so he rose to his knee and moved just out of reach. The ropeshot head reattached itself to the body and loudly announced its availability for use. Third, once Link had total control of her arm, his hand let go of her wrist and reached for one of his three remaining knives. His fingers found the one with the small handle, the utility knife, perfect for what he was about to do.

Finally, he raised the knife and plunged it into Kinja’s arm repeatedly. Blood splattered everywhere as he crippled Kinja’s arm. She screamed and writhed until she found strength to twist over and attempt a slash from an awkward position. Having delivered crippling wounds, Link relinquished her arm in favor of avoiding the blade’s path.

Thus far, his proximity to Kinja had successfully withheld the other sister from firing her long ranged weapon from the pommel of her sword, but as soon as he lost contact with her...

_ Clink! _

Link anticipated the arrival of the ropeshot head and dropped prone onto the ground to snatch the ropeshot from the ground. As soon as he heard the metal head collide with the stone ground, he knew he was safe to roll over and prepare to counter with his own ropeshot. The mechanism itself needed less than a heartbeat for the head to travel back to the body; it was all the time given to Link to figure out how the tool worked and then aim the damn thing. First, it was a matter of finding the trigger, then once he found it…

_ Clink! _

The force of the kickback of the ropeshot was more than he anticipated, and nearly took off his arm. His aim was not true, but it was close enough to convince Minja to move out of the way, towards her sister to regroup. Now that their opponent had the advantage of distance, and of the sisters had just lost hers, they needed a different strategy now. This would buy precious heartbeats of rest.

His wounded leg felt useless, but the blood rush and renewed sense of hope could siphon the pain of his injuries enough to at least escape from this fight. The pain in his lungs still felt aggravating, but he was still breathing at least, maybe even a little easier than before. Each harsh pump of the heart reminded Link that he had a fight ahead of him. Even if he wanted to quit, his body would not let him. And the Protector would not, either.

Kinja scrambled back up to her feet and looked at Link with wrathful eyes of a hungry animal. Her bloodied arm fueled the rage that was seeping through her eyes. Minja, aware of her sister’s heightened aggression, stepped in between her sister and their target, “ _ I shall finish this! _ ”

_ Clink! _ The head of the ropeshot announced that it was ready to use as loudly as it fired. Kinja snarled back at her sister, “ _ No, he is mine! _ ”

Link’s new opponent stood proud and stepped forth as she punctuated her ultimatum in Hylian, “I. Will. Finish. Him!” Minja’s sister had no response to her confidence. She readied herself into her fight stance: sword arm raised above the head and blade pointing downwards, knife hand extended forward with a reverse grip on her curved, Gerudo dagger. She bounced lightly on the toes of her feet. Unharmed up to this point, her body danced around the limping boy, armed with nothing more than a utility knife in his right hand and the ropeshot in his left. His new toy was going to be the thing that would save him. Though his arms felt like they were going to fall off of his shoulders at any given heartbeat, he dared not train his ropeshot on anything other than Minja’s head.

Between her lightning like acceleration and cat like agility, aiming at a moving target was damn near impossible. Combined with the long reach of her scimitar, Minja’s first slash was so fast the blade barely nicked Link’s stomach as he pivoted back on his injured leg without care. And just as quickly as she struck, she pulled back gracefully. The bounty hunter was going to wear out her prey before delivering the incapacitating strike.

When she lunged forth again, her swift, brown hand guided her sword through a two strike combination. Link reacted by barely slipping past the vertical swing and retreating from the horizontal one. Having successfully (and luckily) dodged the combo, he was ready for a third strike to follow, but she pulled back instead, preferring to extend the conflict for as long as possible. Even though it would take too long for Link to recompose himself and fire the ropeshot before Minja would attack again, she still bounced from side to side in between retreats, ever cautious of Link’s deadly weapon.

Each time she dove in for an attack, Link would take one painful gasp of air in panic, land on his hurt leg, and scream in agony. With Minja’s deadly speed and acceleration, timing her attacks was impossible. That was beauty of her hit and run tactic. She chose whenever she wanted to attack, she chose the distance of the engagement, and she never had to worry about her opponent landing an attack.

Blocking or parrying the swings was out of the question, and there was no backing away either. Not only did he had to worry about the swings of her blade and her devastating kicks, but he was all too conscious of the ropeshot at the bottom of Minja’s long blade. Attack, attack, retreat. Attack, attack, retreat. This pattern never seemed to break, and Link quickly formed a tactic in his head.

It was imperative for her to continue her pattern, but avoiding her movements without risking decapitation was all but impossible. Link waited for the first strike and jumped back once she swung her sword. Once she brought her sword up for a downward attack, he saw his sliver of opportunity to slip the attack and catch her leg as she retreated, but he did not see the leg kick that followed the sword swing.

Shin bone landed squarely on his open wound in his thigh, delivering a crippling wave of pain. His defunct leg collapsed under force of the leg kick, and Link fell into a kneel. Minja readied herself for the finishing blow. She took a step forward and twisted her body. Her thick legs carried her into the air, where she unwound her hips and let loose a finishing kick.

The moment her foot left the ground was the point of no return. But when faced against a powerful attack, even a little boy could anticipate and time the impending landing of an attack that required precious heartbeats to set up. It was this moment that Link, taking advantage of her arrogance, ducked into a forward roll.

Once his legs make contact with Minja’s back leg, he wrapped his ankles around her thigh like a python snaring its prey. Using the weight of her planted feet, now trapped with Link’s weight added on, he bent and twisted his torso off the ground to get close enough to place the sharp edge of his utility knife firmly against her tendon connecting the two parts of her leg.

No thoughts were needed to be made as Link pulled the dull, rusty metal blade across flesh. The bounty huntress cried out like a wounded cat as she fell forward onto her knees. Even though Link impressed himself for being able to even land a devastating strike on a Gerudo warrior, he knew it was not the time to celebrate.

The other twin cringed from the pain, “ _ Sister! _ ”

Thank the Goddesses he still had a functional leg! He used it to crawl forth and reach his arm around Minja, who was too distracted by the pain in her lower leg. By the time his arm wielding the knife reached around her collar and locked in place, any attempts by Minja to pry off his limbs were futile.

Oh how the tables had turned. His left hand, which was holding the ropeshot, threaded underneath Minja’s armpit and the over around the back of her neck, while his right hand, which was holding his knife, reached underneath his trained ropeshot, around the fleshy part of her throat, and pressed the blade of his knife firmly against the skin.

She tried to struggle out of this position, but to no avail. Rotating her counterclockwise, Link turned his left arm around to aim the ropeshot at Kinja. By the time the other twin raised her Scimitar in alarm, Link was ready at instinct’s notice to end both their lives.

“Release her!” yelled Kinja in her thick accent, heavier than her sister’s. Her trembling hands were filled with uncertainty. It was difficult to bargain with no bargaining leverage.

“I may be worth 4,500 rupees, but am I worth anything to you dead?” He felt the skin on Minja’s neck push against the blade as she swallowed. “Would you value your sister’s life at 4,500 rupees?” As he spoke, he walked and dragged the struggling Gerudo towards the exit of Sanctuary.

Minja whispered into his ear, “You knew?”

“ _ No _ ,” spoke Link in perfect Gerudo, “ _ You told your sister I was worth that much. _ ” Sadly, neither would ever learn how Link learned to speak the Gerudo language fluently, for he had no intention of leaving either one alive. Simultaneously, he pulled the blade across Minja’s flesh and squeezed the trigger of the ropeshot.

_ Clink! _

Red sprayed everywhere as Minja went limp. Seeing her twin flesh and blood lay dying in Link’s arms, Kinja unleashed a roar as she parried the ropeshot head away with her sword. It took less than two long strides for her to close the distance, and on the third, she unleashed a wild swing that nearly sliced Link in two had he not jumped back as well.

Then he remembered that he was outside, and the wooden beam was the only thing suspending Link from a six story fall. A sudden bloodrush shocked him awake, and he quickly fought to regain his balance, catching his breath once his legs and feet were firmly planted. Before the sisters showed up, he had assumed he had all night to look around and plot his next move. Surveying the vast sea of of wattle and daub was pointless now, the only plan was to survive.

Looking back into Sanctuary one last time, he saw Kinja crying and caressing an unresponsive body with a very bloody head. Hopefully, this would buy him enough time to get a head start on escaping. Once his hand grabbed a hold of the rope, a gripping terrorization ran through his mind: Kinja was going to be out for vengeance. It would only be a matter of any given heartbeat before he and she would cross blades again. With a ring of the bell, he dropped all of his weight down and held on for dear life.

Slowly releasing the grip, he managed to reach the bottom of the rope without burning his hand. But then he had to somehow swing over to the wall and climb back down. Killing a Gerudo bounty hunter, still impressed by his feat, had drained him of any exertable energy. Link simply had no heart to continue back the way he came.

“Link!” that stupid fairy always had to make herself known at the worst times. “Oh Goddess, what are you doing?”

“Sleeping in a Queen sized bed, what’s it look like I’m doing?” he fired back at her before returning his attention back to his environment.

_ If I were the sisters, I would use the ropeshot… But how? _ he asked himself. He looked around directly beneath him and, perfect, found long clotheslines connected between the circular spire and the rectangular neighbor. It was probably not the sisters’ solution, and it was a risky move, but it was worth a shot. His decision to take the risk was further encouraged the as he felt the rope slip from his hands. He aimed slightly above one of the clothesline and held his breath.

_ Clink! _

The ropeshot head fired and dropped, and once it began to reel the head back, it suddenly yanked Link off the rope. “LIIIiiink!”

Combined with the reeling force of the mechanism, Link was falling faster than free fall, straight for the line. Instant regret flooded his mind as he reached top speed. As soon as the head attached itself to the body, Link’s momentum began to pull on the Link, against the clothesline which was what he intentionally wanted. The resistance against his arm was so great that he had to use two hands just to hang on. Then, expectedly, the line snapped. This was not the first time Link used clotheslines to safely land, only the first time with a ropeshot.

Quickly, he snapped his torso around to find another clothesline and fired again just as he was passing the roof of the hostel next door.

_ Clink! _

This time, the ropeshot began to yank him to the side, so he began to swing forward, shifting his momentum horizontally. After another great tug against the ropeshot, that line had snapped as well.

Though his speed had been severely decreased, it did not prevent the impact against the ground from hurting any less than he had imagined.


	20. The Desert Oasis

The Gerudo dancers and servers walked around Rowark busily, but he could feel their eyes crawl over him each time they passed by. A spiral staircase, wide enough to fit two horses side by side, stood in the center, guiding the hungry patrons upwards into lustful bliss. The heightened ceiling and the smooth stone walls made the interior feel more spacious than the exterior suggested. The marble covering the floor was paid for by Hyrule Castle City’s demand for sexual relief. At home, it was a sin. Here, it was a necessary evil. All the local worshippers here told Rowark so. Even his commanding knight once confessed, “I thank the Queen for brothels.”

Rowark’s greatest obstacle to making friends? He had never slept with anyone before. And the only people who cared enough to look past that had just dragged him into the one place he never thought he would ever step foot in. His flushed, red cheeks betrayed his attempt at nonchalance and brightly displayed his embarrassment to every person in that room.

The large rotunda featured several long couches arranged around the circular spire. The men wearing their silk dress shirts flirted with their purchase of the evening. The men wearing the city guard uniforms flirted with the courtesans because that was all they could afford. Four fire pits, fitted between the spaces in between the love cushions, illuminated the cream colored stone lining the walls. No matter the season, the flames would heat the passions of love year round.

The sound of jingling alerted Rowark to someone approaching him. The tall yet volutuous Gerudo walked towards him and then stopped, pausing for a moment to glance over him. Rowark took this opportunity to do the same.

Her tall presence commanded authority immediately upon sight. Small, red eyes quickly scanned the boy, and Rowark felt goosebumps on his skin as her eyes picked apart every detail in his body language. No secrets were safe from her eyes. Tawny beige skin flawlessly covered every inch of her face. There were some wrinkles, but they were so subtle that it was difficult to estimate her age. Her nose was not quite as beakish as her sisters’, and her chin was not as pointy comparatively either. Her ponytail, held by a silk ribbon, extended like a stream of blood down to her waist. A nose ring poking out from her left nostril and several ear piercings decorated her cartilage.

Her curvaceous body was sleek, healthy, and attached to strong arms and toned legs. She chose to wrap a red see-through scarf over her fitted, pink top. Her outfit had loose red sleeves draping from the seams around the shoulders, a feature the other Gerudo lacked in their outfits. As it was customary in Hylian fashion, perhaps it was a symbol a leadership? Her top exposed her midriff, and her skirt, sewn into her embroidered leather belt, was nothing more than white fabric extending down to her barefoot ankles. Thin, metal ornaments hung from the fabric and leather, producing the jingling sound with each encroaching step.

Her lower register voice greeted the new knight with seductive curiosity, “What have we here?” Her Hylian was perfect. Not a trace of any Gerudo accent.

“Uh,” Rowark squeaked out timidly. The snickers and giggles coming from behind him were forcing blood into his face and making it harder for words to form in his mouth. “Um. Hi?”

The high pitched cackle sounding laugh came from Garreth, the tallest of their friend group who had facial hair as thin as his chest hairs. Out of the subsequent uproar of laughter following Rowark’s embarrassment, Garreth’s snort stood out the most. Rowark, now officially the highest ranking official in the group, shamefully hung his head low self-consciously. Bad enough as it was that he was treated like an outcast within his own company, he felt even more of an outcast within the walls of the pleasure house.

A forceful pat on the back almost knocked him over though. “Don’t worry about the shy kid, Sasha,” said Boom, the seasoned veteran of over a hundred seasons of service, as he walked up to save the poor boy from making a fool out of himself, “This kid here won’t give ya trouble, not like Tenny back there.”

“Tenny gives me trouble, but he’s harmless. I want to know if this one is…  _ dangerous _ .” Sasha extended her right middle finger and exposed the tattoo on her arm as her fingernail brushed upwards along Rowark’s tunic, “What’s your name, boy?”

Boom intervened before Rowark could answer her question, “Pardon me, Sasha, but you are now addressing a Sir!”

Sasha removed her finger from Rowark’s chest to wave off Boom without breaking her gaze into Rowark’s eyes, “He’s not a Sir in my house.” She teasingly bit at him, “Not yet at least. And let the boy answer for himself!”

Rowark could not tell if she was waiting for him to answer her question, but the silence implied so, “Um.” He felt the stares, as he was now the center of attention, “I’m Rowark. New knight of the crown.”

“Sasha. Directorate of the Desert Oasis. Pleased to meet you,” Sasha this time extended her arm forward for a handshake. Rowark received the hand and lifted it gently to his lips. He did not know how else to greet a woman. The Gerudo smirked, “Adorably quaint.”

“All right, all right, let’s get to business, then,” said an impatient Boom, “How much for dinner with your finest girls?”

She leaned in closer, and Rowark, not know what to do, turned away. He could tell from her wide, evil grin that his displeasure was clearly pleasing to her. And after what seemed like a long heartbeat, Sasha pulled her head back slightly to answer Boom, “You and your other two handsome companions can have the watchman special. Tenny knows he’s banned from entering paradise. And just because I don’t like him, tell him the girls are charging him hourly for his appetizer.”

_ What about me? _ Rowark asked, and to answer that, Sasha returned to her unsettling deep gaze into Rowark’s eyes, “The boy is mine.” The words sent a sudden rush of blood into Rowark’s face again. Suddenly, Rowark felt a warm, moist hand grip his, “Come, let me give you a quick tour of the place.” Sasha’s hand pulled gently against his gripped fingers, almost as if her hand was guiding him around the rotunda.

Rowark guessed there were no less than thirty girls either waiting for their next client or flirting with the patrons on the couch. All the courtesans were dressed the same: loose, pink top wrapped around their breasts and baggy pink pants. But other than their uniform clothing, the ladies came in all shapes and sizes. Rowark counted two Gerudo flirting with patrons half their size and three flirting with guards twice their size. The stereotype that all Gerudo looked alike was preposterous.

Sasha pulled the knight past the courtesan’s waiting couches straight to a vendor. The behemoth standing with her arms crossed behind the counter had a chiseled face that had absorbed one too many hits. Rowark could only focus on the slightly bent, hawkish nose as the vendor spoke in accented Hylian, “What will it be?” The knight had to look up and down just make sure that it was a woman who spoke in the deep, impatient tone of voice.

Sasha did not immediately answer. Her eyes started browsing from the top shelf of bottles and worked their way across and downwards. “Hmm, what kind of drink do you fancy?” asked the courtesan.

Rowark hesitated, “Um, I do not drink.” It was a lie. He enjoyed mead, ales, and certain sweet wines. The opacity of the bottles on the shelves concealed whatever liquids were contained, and he was hesitant to try any form of foreign drink that he could not see.

The only reply he got from Sasha was a sly smile, “Cobra’s blood, then”.

The vendor nodded and then reached from behind the counter, pulling out a black bottle in the shape of a coiled up snake. The snake’s head served as the bottle’s mouth, and the undisturbed cork in the mouth fit snuggly in the snake’s mouth. “Enjoy,” said the vendor. Sasha grabbed the bottle by the neck and took Rowark’s hand again.

Guiding the guest of honor around the rotunda, Sasha began her lecture, “That was Shriva, master of our drinks. We import various wines from different vineyards out in the country and then add Gerudo ingredients to give it a more exotic flavor. We normally charge for the bottle, but I am making an exception for you.”

“Why me?” asked Rowark, who had been meaning to ask her this question ever since she “picked” him.

“Because I like you!” she said innocently enough. Her insincere answer left a dissatisfied feeling in Rowark’s mind. Sasha continued, “Anyways, our mothers began constructing the tower in year fifty seven After Ganon, just before the great the migration, and finished construction in Fall of year fifty nine. Since the Desert Oasis first opened forty years ago, it not only became the biggest pleasure house in all of Hyrule City, but it also houses the majority of the Gerudo population in the city.”

Sasha and Rowark were approaching a shrine to the Three Goddesses. A wooden frame with a pointed top housed the stone statue of Farore, Din, and Nayru standing side by side. Din’s hands were extended, holding a golden (most likely brass) replica of the Triforce. The light from the two flanking torches reflected off the metal onto the dark stone statues, giving the Goddesses a golden glow. “Our mothers embraced the Golden Goddesses so we could integrate with Hylian society,” said the escort.

This information piqued Rowark’s curiosity, “What was the transition from your old religion like?”

“Seamless,” answered Sasha without hesitation, “Our mothers were branded as heretics of the Sun Goddess and banished from their home. It did not take much to convince them to adopt new Goddesses. One of our mothers chiseled this statue by herself. Din is holding the Triforce because we like to celebrate her the most, and some say that touching the Triforce brings luck. Go ahead.” Rowark did not know why he expected warmth to emanate from the metal, but the cold touch reminded him that the Triforce was nothing more than an ornament.

When Rowark lifted his hand, Sasha threaded her arm through his and continued guiding him around and lecturing. While Sasha was talking about history of the tapestries hung on the wall, Rowark looked over for several heartbeats to see how his companions were doing. Garreth, Boom, Tenpenny, the short and stocky troublemaker also known as Tenny, and Lemon, the foul mouthed, foul smelling soldier, were all engaged deeply in conversation with their girls. Seeing his friends enjoy their purchased company made Rowark feel a little at ease, though not by much.

“... takes at least one season to finish,” by the time Rowark returned his attention back to his hostess, her eyes were turned upwards to the many tapestries hanging along the upper half of the walls. Each tapestry was attached to a wooden bar suspended by a single piece of twine. Some were wider than they were long, some were longer than they were wide, and there seemed to be no method to the arrangement of each art piece. No form of Gerudo culture was spared from depiction: dancing, hunting, warfare, love, and history were the most common subjects.

“The Gerudo used weaving as the primary means of passing stories from generation to generation. This one here is one of my favorites,” Sasha pointed to the tapestry third from the left of the entrance, which depicted a woman wearing a cream colored hood, carrying a bow and standing over bodies of soldiers and Gerudo alike, “This is Moreva, a famous warrior who could shoot arrows from the sand unseen. It is said that she once stopped an invading Hylian force all by herself. The Gerudo to this day use the ingenious tactics she invented for desert warfare.”

Soldiers coming back from desert patrols brought stories of arrows that formed out of thin air. When Rowark was still a young page, the veterans in his company shared tales of invisible, demon archers who breathed arrows.  _ So this is the original demon archer _ , thought Rowark. With so much mythology surrounding the desert Gerudos, he began to wonder how many had actually met one and lived to tell the tale. Each legend Sasha shared was either about a famous warrior, a battle, or a historic event. As Rowark listened to tales of bravery, he looked around the room and wondered if all the ladies in the room inherited the Gerudo warriors’ culture.

Suddenly, Rowark noticed something about all the tapestries. “If a male Gerudo is supposedly once every one hundred years, he would be able to unify all the Gerudo tribes. He would be pretty important. So why are their stories not told in the tapestries?” asked the knight.

Her beautiful smile instantly turned into a frown, “They are.” The displeasure on her face was all Rowark needed to know that his question had touched a nerve. “Our mothers were exiled from a culture that revered men, only to live in a city ruled by men. Because we wanted to celebrate our femininity, we chose to import tapestries that honored our sisters’ stories.”

Rowark looked at Sasha awkwardly, feeling guilty about offending his host. Not knowing how else to ease the tense silence in the air, he apologized, “I’m sorry.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Oh, you did not have to apologize! This question is frequently asked, so I did not mean to sound offended.” She looked back at the colorful works of art, “You seem like a sensible man who understands this city very well. Tell me, who was the Gerudo’s last king?”

“Ganondorf.” the stories of the Gerudo King’s conquest left a fearful imprint in the minds of Rowark and his peers. But they were more than just campfire stories told to spook the children in his hometown, he recently discovered. Miro Miro’s revelation confirmed that the stories were indeed history.

“Precisely. Since many of our patrons cannot even tell the difference between us sisters, we feared they would mistake any of our kings as Ganondorf,” added Sasha, “It simply would not be good for patronage.”

They spent another quiet moment admiring the art before Rowark felt his hand being tugged again, this time towards the center of the room. The corners of Sasha’s mouth slowly curled upwards, “Are you ready for your four course meal?”

Despite Sasha’s clear body language, Rowark’s scrambled and anxious mind mustered out the words, “Um, what kind of four course meal?”

“You’re so adorable,” chuckled Sasha as she led the knight past a fire stand towards the center of the room. As Rowark looked around and observed the courtesans stoking the passions of love, the heat from the nearby fire sent another wave of bashfulness to his already bright red cheeks. “Why are you so tense? Relax,” she said, bringing attention to Rowark’s tightened grip, “We can start with our appetizer here on the couch, like everyone else.”

As she guided him past the taken spots on the love seats, Rowark could feel the curious eyes point at him and hear the curious whispers fill the soundscape. “Why him?” he heard from the corner of a woman’s lips. The more questions floated in the air, the harder the beating in his chest sounded.

Sasha turned around and gazed him in the eye, bringing his focus back to his hostess. “Your hands are trembling! You need to calm down!” she teasingly whispered into his right ear just before she planted a moist kiss on Rowark’s cornered jaw bone, “Don’t worry about the rest. I’ve marked you as mine.” He had no desire to parse those words into common Hyrule.

The hot color of the satin couch was only too appropriate for the heated atmosphere. Seeing his comrades lewdly act out their behavior just as they had described in their stories of female conquests, Rowark knew he should not have been shocked. Rather, he was more or less disappointed to see that the great myths of passionate lovemaking were nothing more than stories funded by the city tax collector. Boom’s hands aggressively squeezed any piece of curvy skin on his woman. Garreth looked only too happy to finally have company after only one tendo away from his wife. Rowark could not imagine what kind of woman would enjoy kissing Lemon, a man whose stench was constantly felt in the room. Tenny had just found out about his special “deal”.

Rowark was convinced Sasha was reading his mind when she suddenly said, “Tenny comes in here every ninth of the tendo after spending his ‘hard earned’ pay at the tavern and picks fights with every girl that he purchases. It’s why we don’t like him.” Short, crude, and horrendously unattractive, Tenny had no redeeming quality in Rowark’s mind except that they broke bread and fought side by side together

“Lemon is a sweetie, I’m sure you know,” Rowark never thought a woman would use such a word to describe Tenny’s right hand man in all of their pub brawls, “and he pays good money and is very respectful.” Lemon could be as foul as his odor, so hearing that Lemon treated anyone politely came as a surprise. Towards everyone else in the unit, he was as foul mouthed as Tenny could be. Overall, he was a man who harmed none and fouled none, so long as no one told him to or threatened his compatriots. It was also unfortunate that he had a short temper too. The way he tenderly touched his escort’s thick legs and long hair appeared too… unusual.

“Garreth always picks the same girl each time he comes in. Those two have grown very close.” The man who was closest to Rowark in age was probably the closest friend he had in his unit, maybe even throughout all of Hyrule. Despite having attended Garreth’s wedding, Rowark could no longer persuade best friend to stay faithful to his marriage. After many past attempts to stop Garreth’s extramarital affairs, Rowark stopped trying after Garreth continually repeated the same excuse, “I’m a scoundrel.”

“And Boom has such a ravaging appetite that some of my best girls cannot quell.” That little bit of information would have been unpleasant to hear, but the way Sasha put it sounded ten times better than the gross, overindulgent details that Boom never forgot to miss every time he told the same stories. 

That didn’t bother Rowark so much. The intrusion into his mind did, “How did you know?”

“They come here often. Our girls keep records of all the patrons in case someone becomes a little extra unruly.”

“No, how did you know that was what I was thinking about?” Rowark was raising his voice word by word, “I could have been thinking about anything.”

“Boy.”

“Sir!” Rowark sternly corrected.

“Relax!” Sasha shushed him, having just sensed the heightened tension between the two, “It is my job to pick at your mind. Here, have a seat.” Her arm beckoned Rowark to sit down on the empty spot. But he looked at the seat with distrust. Whatever magic she possessed could easily put Rowark in a vulnerable position. Sasha sighed, “It’s because your eyes are too honest. You were looking at your comrades because you were thinking about them.”

Rowark took a deep breath and resigned to her innocent explanation by sitting on the couch, and Sasha slid onto his lap without any regard for personal boundaries. She uncorked her snake shaped bottle and poured the dark, velvety wine into two shiny chalices.

The teenage boy took the silver cup and stared at the deeply colored liquid. It did not smell like any average wine that came from the Quela Castle vineyards.  _ Well, the wine was not meant to be stared at _ , thought Rowark as he lifted the chalice to his lips. A sudden metallic and spicy taste overwhelmed his taste buds, infiltrated his nostrils, and even forced him to cough uncontrollably. “What’s in this?” Rowark said once he regained some control over his coughing lungs.

“Cobra’s blood,” was her ready answer, “A blend of six spices native to the desert; and of course, cobra’s venom.” Any desire to drink the wine disappeared with that ingredient. “It makes you more honest. Drink! It is very expensive!” Sasha raised the chalice to her lips and drank a mouthful with class and posture.

It was tough to withstand the fiery flavors like Sasha could. The venomous wine felt like it was setting fire to every cavity from his throat all the way to his nose. He had to cough again to relieve the heat. “How do you drink something so strong?” he asked.

“Practice,” was her coy reply. After three big gulps, she tipped the chalice towards Rowark to show him that she had finished her drink. “There’s no hurry to finish your wine. We’re here to get to know each other a little better. That’s why we call this, the appetizer.” She poured herself another healthy serving, “Let’s start with your name and your age? And then you can ask me any question you want. Afterall, I feel like the wine is beginning to work on me.”

Rowark was not quite sure if she meant that the wine was making her drunk or more truthful. After taking another small sip, he answered her initial question, “Rowark Forester, I turned eighteen last Winter. May I ask the same?”

“Of course,” said the Gerudo, “Sasha Ganondorf, I celebrated my thirty seventh birth date last tendo. How long have you been in the army?”

“I joined when I was eight,” Rowark answered without thinking.

“So young, why?”

A slight urge within his body wanted him to divulge events that took place before he joined the army. Perhaps this was the truthfulness that Sasha was referring to? “I believe it’s my turn to ask,” he replied, buying himself time to collect his answer.

Sasha smirked, “Fair.”

“How long have you worked, um... ” the boy tried to find the right word to describe a brothel without offending his hostess, but alas all he could come up with was, “here?”

Sasha chuckled, which sent another rush of blood up to his already warm face, and answered, “You are exquisitely adorable! Don’t be embarrassed by what we do!” And that made Rowark’s face feel even warmer. “I was born here like every woman living under this roof, and I will probably work here until I draw my last breath.” Rowark could tell Sasha had pride in her profession, but there was no way he could understand what it was like to be born into such a sinful profession. “So back to my question, why did you join the city guard at such a young age?”

Even with the extra question and time, Rowark was still not ready to answer. He could feel the wine’s ingredients affect his judgement and was no longer comfortable answering any more questions. There were still a few more sips of Cobra’s blood left in his chalice, and his willingness to stomach the harsh taste quickly turned into nausea. “I…” he began his answer, trying to improvise a fib did not come naturally to him, “I was…” He took a deep breath to sigh and calm his scrambled thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurted out, “I am no longer comfortable playing this game. I know you are doing your best to make small talk with the wine, but I do not wish to discuss my past.” Rowark anticipated disappointment from his hostess and searched for clues in her facial expression that would convey that sentiment.

Surprising him once again, Sasha returned an understanding smile, or at least was very good at hiding disappointment, and replied, “It is entirely okay. Perhaps you be more inclined to discuss this in private?”

Every bit of Rowark’s virgin body wanted to say no. Even though he did not understand all the cryptic language used to describe Sasha and her girls’ services, he knew exactly what Sasha meant by discussing in private. But he nodded instead, “Okay.” Considering that the prostitute was kind enough to offer free services, this was going to be his best opportunity to finally quiet the taunts about his virginity that plagued him all throughout his time in the army.

“Excellent,” replied Sasha as she took Rowark by the hand and led him around to the base of the spiral stairway to paradise. His friends’ eyes interrupted whatever activity they were engaged in and followed Rowark and his hostess. Sasha stopped Rowark right before he took his first step up. “We have one golden rule in the stairway to paradise,” she started.

Just one rule? “What’s that?”

“No talking while climbing or descending the stairs.”

Rowark looked up the stairwell, took a deep breath, and began ascending his way towards paradise. His eyes refused to acknowledge the hoot and the hollers of his shame coming from his friends.


	21. 28 Years Ago (part 2)

_ The 15th Day of Winter _

When Topah woke up from his horrible nightmare, the crisp, winter air felt a lot colder than the night before. His waking eyes first focused onto a hideous, orange skinned monster with a frightening underbite and a jagged fang poking from underneath, who was holding a torch to fight back the ominous pitch black of the Lost Woods. Then Topah felt the scaly, dry skin wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and he felt his weight suspended in the air as they walked down a path surrounded by thick trees and darkness. There was a red monster just above him holding his wrists, and a green monster just below holding his ankles.

_ The nightmare has not ended yet _ .  _ I feel awake, but if I were awake, I would be rising from my bed at home _ , reasoned the boy. He had to be dreaming. Nothing as catastrophic as the events from the night before could have ever happened to the Kokiri Village. The Great Deku Tree said that he would always keep his children safe.

A soft snarl from the dark petrified all four dead in their tracks. Topah’s heart was pounding hard and fast. The fear in his body felt too real to be a dream. Everyone swiveled their head around in search for the source of the noise. Finally, Topah had a good chance to study their ugly faces, but as their appearance became more and more familiar, a growing ache began to dig into the back of his head. Then the memory of the traumatic blow at that very location hurt like he had landed from a fall on his head.

There was no mistaking the ugly ears sprouting from their heads, they were Bokoblins. The green one carrying his ankles wore his weapon, the very same one that rendered Topah unconscious, on his back. This was the moment he realized that he was awake. The nightmare was real. The fear swelled so much in his heart that he could no longer contain himself, so he unleashed himself.

“WAAAAAHH!!” cried the little one as loudly as he could, “I WANNA GO HOME!” Tears and snot washed down his face, and pee flowed freely and trickled warmly into his winter trousers as he fought the grips of the similarly sized creatures holding him. “LET! ME! GO!” he screamed as his feet exclaimed his strong sentiment through his kicking.

The fuss brought everyone’s attention back to him. The orange Blin carrying the torch blurted “Ix Kahn yumizh dier!” before lifting his tiny foot and kicking Topah’s bruised rib. The pain made Topah gag, the gag made him quiet, and the quiet pleased the Bokoblin, until Topah threw up all over the ground. The torchbearer turned his head down the path and shouted out more gibberish in his native tongue, like he was calling out to someone. “Yuuks ke!” he ordered the two carrying Topah.

They walked more cautiously this time. Something threatening was very close. Hidden somewhere in the darkness, the invisible presence made itself known, however, through its heavy breathing and deep growling.

Topah coughed and spit out whatever was left in his mouth and promptly resumed crying, this time from the pain. “Please!” he tearfully begged the monsters, “Just let me go! Please!” He did not know what else he could say to persuade the barbaric creatures.

But the Bokoblins continued walking obliviously to his pleas. It was not long before Topah could see torchlight reflecting upon the trees farther down the windy path. Encouraged by this sign, the captors picked up their pace.

“AAHH!” Pitch black swamped the area. Everyone turned around towards the squeal, only to find the torch bearer, and therefore the light, being dragged deep into the forest, too late for rescue.

In the darkness, the captors were shouting a nonsensical combination of squeals and sharp punctuations to the group down the path.

A response call echoed in the distance, followed by the calls of many. And soon the first torches from the reinforcement team became visible. Topah could not decide which fate he would rather prefer, get taken by the Bokoblins or face the wrath of the Lost Woods wildlife. He did share a home with the Lost Woods’ beasts, though, so he began to kick himself free, but the grips on his wrists were strong.

The Bokoblins hobbled along the path as quickly as their short legs could carry them. Another snarl from the thick black quickened their pace. Suddenly, Topah’s right wrist shook free, and then he kicked his left ankle free. There was no way for the Blins to see and therefore catch his moving extremities. He then reached over to his other wrist and pulled it free, dropping his torso onto the ground.

All that was left was the grip on his right ankle, but time was quickly running short; the distant torches and Bokoblin faces were steadily closing in. Topah’s free foot thrusted forth and landed on the fleshy gut of the Blin in front, who recoiled and released his grip.

Piercing shrieks and dark wings gradually filled the sky; although the night covered the forest in pitch black darkness, the numerous glowing, yellow eyes began to swell above their heads and light up the entire forest floor. With the sunlight gone, the ferocious Keese were beginning to gather for their next meal. Individually, their black wings, large, buggy eyes, flattened discolored noses, and small white fangs were nothing to be feared. So common were they that whenever one would occasionally fly into the Kokiri Village, the children would promptly chase it out and make sport of the activity.

In the dark night of the Lost Woods and in the company of thousands of others, the Keese were said to be able to tear flesh from mighty monsters alive down to their bones. Both Bokoblins and Topah attempted to cry for help above the deafening sound of the swarm of Keese shrieks. An unseen, sharp claw dug into Topah’s flesh, and soon cries of pain were added into the cacophony. The Kokiri instantly dropped to the ground and covered his head in the fetal position.

The lacerating pain was unending. Topah could not see the blood escaping from the shallow cuts, but he could feel liquid traveling down his skin. No matter how much pain there was, though, he dared not uncover himself.

Suddenly, light began to bounce off his skin, lifting the onslaught. Bokoblin reinforcements had arrived. They waved their lit torches in the air, driving back the black winged swarm and stopping the flurry of cuts and scratches. Because the boy was too scared to run from the Keese, he was also too scared to resist the forceful grips against his arms that pulled him up onto his feet. As the dozens of Blins dragged Topah, he caught a glimpse of his original captors laying on their backs motionless with their clubs in their hands. Their cold, wide open eyes and bloodied, torn flesh told him they were anything but alive.

Capture was ultimately preferable to death. Topah obediently walked along the path, and he offered no resistance to the two escorts holding him tightly. There was not a part in his body that was willing to escape and face the unknowns of the predatory Lost Woods. Instead, his feet placed themselves one in front of the other, and he kept his head hung low.

A foot kicked the back of Topah’s leg, causing him to tumble, followed by the annoying laughter of the perpetrators. But the escorts’ patience ran thin after picking up Topah time after time, until finally they turned around and threatened to trade blows. The whole troop stopped, and the leader turned around with a very displeased look on her ugly face.

Even though a mean, maroon colored Blin wearing a spiky, metal helmet stood five Blins ahead of Topah, he could feel her commanding presence from so far back. And even though Topah’s eyes were pointed towards the ground for most of the walk, the troop leader’s tall, enhanced posture made her creed known to the boy: there was no escaping on her watch. She stomped through the dense crowd, using sheer muscle strength from her arms to wipe a clear path to the troublemakers.

She barked at the top of his lungs to her troop, “ _ What’s going on? _ ” in the Deku language, and the would-be combatants instantly turned their attention to their gigantic leader. The Deku language, a language that Topah had learned after celebrating decades of seasonal festivals with his Deku friends, spoken from a Bokoblin’s mouth almost struck him dumb.

The leader towered over the boy, and looked over his head to examine the situation. Then her eyes focused onto Topah, and then back to the escorts. “ _ You two! _ ” she pointed at the two Blins standing beside Topah, “ _ Why aren’t you holding him? _ ”

The Blins in question looked at each other, clueless on how to respond. The taller leader shot her hands forth and wrapped her fingers around the skinny necks of the accused. Two Bokoblins fought for air as their leader lifted them off their feet, but no matter how hard they kicked their feet into the air or pulled on the constricting fingers, everyone except Topah knew this was the end for the two.

When they finally stopped struggling, Topah watched gape eyed as the leader dropped their corpses onto the ground while locking eyes with the Bokoblins that started the fight.

“Eek!” screamed Topah, who was still not used to seeing death so closely, so his scream quickly turned into more frightful crying.

Unphased, the leader pointed at two of the blue Blins, “ _ You’re now escorting the  _ eemteebah _! I shouldn’t have to remind you what happens if you ever let go of him! _ ” The new escorts nodded fearfully and promptly tied a rope around Topah’s wrists while the boy sobbed. One grabbed Topah by his left arm, while the other held the end of the leash.

“ _ Let’s go! _ ” There were no more interruptions after that incident.

Long after Topah’s feet began to hurt upon stepping on the cold ground and his stomach began to fiercely growl like the hungry predators stalking in the woods, the sky finally began to brighten again. The faint light began to quiet the wildlife and bring a sense of relief to the troops.

And it was not long after that light from the camp torches, the first signs of civilization, were finally seen. Thick tree trunks held together by rope formed a wooden palisade that seemed to stretch endlessly into the forest. Several torches jutted above the poorly made ramparts, but they did well to light the area and warn the wildlife to keep away. Only two little Bokoblins watch the camp entrance, and patrols of archers dutifully and fearfully watched the foliage for the slightest bit of movement.

As the company of Blins approached the entrance, their pace began to slow down, and cheerful chatter began to return to their mouths. “ _ We made it! _ ” a dark blue colored Blin whispered in Deku to his elder compatriot and then shared those sentiments in his native tongue. The grunts’ ugly smiles turned into laughter, and the closer they got, the laughter became cheers. And then their cheers became unison.

“ _Oostahl! Oostahl! Oostahl the great! Defend us from our wretched fate!_ ” the crowd roared and raised their weapons and torches with every beat, “ _Oostahl! Oostahl! Oostahl the great! Lead us safely to our gate!_ ”

At first, the Blins pressed themselves towards the middle of the path to fit through the opening. As Topah squeezed through the gates, the Blins around him dispersed and dashed in all directions to see friends and family waiting for them. And as Topah walked through the camp grounds, he saw bright smiles and excited embraces from those who were too happy to be alive, and he saw the lamentation in the Blins who had just received news that their loved one was not returning.

His escorts led him down the pathway of the campgrounds, which looked like a village of hundreds, maybe thousands even, of differently sized tents scattered throughout the grounds. A foul, sour smell hung in the air and Topah sulked as his captors led him past curious stares from Bokoblins of all colors, all shapes, and all sizes. Murmurs and whispers floated into the boy’s ears, even though he could not understand any of it. He hung his head, kept his eyes pointed at the ground, and did his best to remain oblivious to the attention.

Exhaustion and hunger drained any alertness and self-awareness from Topah and turned him into an obedient captive. Even though each step on the ground shot aching pains from his soles into his body, he continued to walk forward one step at a time.

“Topah!” the familiar voice of a Kokiri picked his head up. The children squeezed within a small, wooden box with thick bars walling them in, but the first face he saw was the Protector’s. Her face was cut up, her right cheek was red and puffy, her left eye was swollen shut, and her exposed torso was covered in red bruises and bloody cuts, but she was not the only one with injuries. Curry’s blackened and purple head popped out from behind the crowd of captives, Harna and Harma, the Kokiri village’s favorite brown haired, dancers, were hugging each other tightly, and Fado, the village’s most famed violinist, sadly watched Topah helplessly follow the Bokoblins.

The guard of the cage opened the door without needing any orders, prompting some of the nearby guards to aim their primitive spear tips at the open entrance. The frightened children only naturally retreated as far away as they could and pressed their backs against the wooden bars and each other, except for the Protector.

Her hair, now stained with mud and blood, did not flow with the breeze like it used to, nor did her face, beaten beyond recognition, possess her famed beauty, but those did not change who she was inside. Whatever pain in Topah’s feet and hunger in his belly succumbed to the Protector’s motherly presence. She stood steadfastly in between the frightened Kokiri and the Blins’ sharp, metal spear tips.

Topah was only too happy to rejoin his kin as he climbed into the cage. As the cage door closed shut and locked tightly behind him, the Kokiri captives rushed in to comfort the newcomer, who fell forward and collapsed into their arms and began to sob. 

Was this nightmare over yet? If he could just fall asleep and wake up again, would he still be in this horrible place?

“It’s okay,” the Protector said as she warmly wrapped her arms around him, “I’m here for you.” The hugs from his brothers and sisters, frightfully crying with Topah, made him realize that he was not the only one suffering from the nightmare, that others were feeling the exact same torrent of emotions. Every eye rose in the cage rose as the Protector proudly stood up, “I’m here for all of us. I’m just as scared as you, and I don't know what's going to happen to us,” though no one could tell, for her once soft voice for teaching was replaced by the voice of a warrior, “But I swear that I shall protect all of you until my last, dying breath. We will find a way out of this!”

Her inspirational speech only lessened the children’s crying and was met with sniffling, runny noses. It was going to take more than a speech to lift their spirits again, if it was even possible at this point. So the Protector walked around, comforting and consoling each brother and sister personally. Each visit made each frown a little less, frowny, and soon, some were comforted enough to fall asleep, with tears drying on their fragile faces.

“Irma, you are one of the bravest out of us all,” the Protector was overheard saying to one of the village’s shortest, baby-faced, sisters, “I know you bravely lead other harvesters deep into the forest just to feed our village, and now I need you to be brave for everyone else, okay?” As the Protector rubbed her back, the brown haired girl quietly nodded and wiped her nose and eyes in response and then buried her face back into her knees, unable to be consoled any further.

The Protector turned to girl’s, freckled brother sitting next to her and placed her arm around him, “How are you feeling, Onolla?” The curly haired boy buried his face into the Protector’s chest and wrapped his arms around her waist. Onolla was always an honest child, so there was no need for him to say what he was feeling. And as his shoulders shook up and down from crying, the Protector caressed the back of his head, “I always liked the pictures you carved into the tree stumps.”

The boy lifted his head, “Really? You’ve seen them?”

“Of course!” the Protector replied, “My favorite picture is the one of you holding hands with the Hero and the Sage of the Forest.”

“I always imagined being best friends with the Hero and Saria,” said a smiling Onolla as he placed his head back onto the Protector’s chest, “Protector, do you think the Hero will come save us?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t,” hearing the sniffling made the Protector realize that her natural honesty was perhaps not the best tactic at the moment, so she quickly switched to an upbeat attitude, “But, I don’t see why you couldn’t be the Hero!”

Onolla lifted his head once again, “Really? You think so?” Had Topah never seen the craven lad flee from a butterfly, he could very well have taken Onolla seriously. In response to Onolla’s newfound enthusiasm, the Protector nodded and smiled.

The Protector continued making her way around the enclosure, and Topah stopped paying attention to her conversations, until a hand gently touched his shoulder, an arm wrapped him, and it was his turn for the Protector to comfort.

Topah instantly felt the blush run up to his face. “Hey,” whispered the Protector as she laid her head on his shoulder, making the boy blush even harder, “I never got to thank you for saving me during the battle.”

But the Protector’s words brought disappointment in Topah, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Memories of the battle flashed into his mind. His first sword strike was easily blocked. “I fought poorly. I couldn’t,” he hesitated in finishing his sentence because after the many days and the many seasons of training with the Protector, “I couldn’t protect our home!” He began to sob after confessing his embarrassing combat performance.

The Protector replaced her head with a hand on Topah’s shoulder, “There were too many of them, there was nothing we could have done. The battle was lost before it was begun.”

“I embarrassed myself, you, and the village,” he scowled at himself.

“Your job was to prepare breakfast for the village, and you made some excellent pickled eggs every morning!” the compliment lifted Topah’s frown, “Picking up a sword in defense of the village was more than what anyone could have expected from you!”

“Yeah,” Topah protested, “but -”

“It was my job, MY responsibility, to keep you all safe. You made breakfast every day, foraged for food, made music and danced, while I practiced the sword for one purpose only, and I failed.”

Topah was at a loss for words. The Protector had already given kind and uplifting words to many of the children, what could anyone say to uplift the Protector? Before, her role as guardian of the village was simply taken for granted. Now that every child trapped in the cage was facing his or her mortality, the Protector’s role became more vital than ever.

The Kokiri were all fast asleep by this point. The sun was beginning to rise, providing a light coat of warmth against the winter air and most of the children were probably awake until recently. It was a shame though, for the sun’s morning light truly brought subtle relief. The Blins seemed impervious to the climate conditions. The guards stubbornly patrolled the routes with exposed torsos and carried their lengthy spears dutifully. There was not a shiver in their bodies that implied they were aware of the cold.

Topah tried offering his words of comfort, “You got a lot of them though.”

“I did, didn’t I?” said the Protector, almost unbelievingly, as her head barely hung on her neck. A cold breeze chilled Topah down to his bone. “Did I do the right thing though? Spilling all that blood to protect my kin? If we were all going to be captured in the end, was it even worth taking all those lives?”

A silver glimmer fell through the air. Was she crying? “Protector?” he asked, unsure if her tough mindset was about to shatter.

“Sorry,” she sat up and wiped her wet eyes on her arms and sniffled. Topah never thought he would live to see the day. “When I -” she stopped to let the crying subside and gather herself, “when I accepted the responsibility of the Protector, wielder of the Kokiri blade, Father made sure I valued all life like he did. And I followed every word of it.”

He had to lighten the mood up a little, so he placed his hand on her shoulder tenderly and jokingly asked, “What did He say about defending against ugly Bokoblins?”

“Well, we never really talked about it. I think it’s because Father wanted be in charge of protecting the village from outside threats, and He did not want us to even think about the possibility of him failing. He needed me to focus on protecting the village from yourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

"If Father wanted us to defend ourselves, He would have given each of us enough real swords to use. Forbidding all but one sword was done to keep peace and order. It was meant to keep fights between boys from getting out of hand.”

“So you weren’t prepared to fight an army, just like none of us were. So you can’t blame yourself for our situation!”

She looked up with tear streams reflecting off the morning sun and smiled almost as cheerfully as she used to, making Topah’s chest flutter. “Thank you,” she replied genuinely.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was not: Topah would do whatever it took to make sure the Protector could smile like that again. “Out of all of us here, you are the most important one. No one can make us feel safe like you can.” His chest began to swell with emotions, and he needed to pour out everything he was feeling, “You are everybody’s hero in the village. Every boy and girl wants to be like you. Now that Father isn’t here to protect us anymore, everyone here is going to be looking to you to keep us safe, and you will need someone to look after you too. So if leading and protecting you ever becomes too much for you handle, you can always count on me to be there for you,” Topah said as he reached out and grabbed her hand, “All I want to do is make sure you’re okay. We're in this together.”

The Protector leaned in, wrapped her arms around him, and suddenly planted her lips on Topah’s cheeks, a move he definitely did not see coming. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, causing the boy to blush all over again, “Get some rest.”

Topah leaned back and rested his head on the backs of the two boys sleeping behind him, and the Protector laid her head on top of his chest and snuggled up against him. The warmth, comfort, and safety radiating from her body was most overwhelming, almost uncomfortable. The two laid in silence for a moment, until Topah finally asked, “Aren’t you going to make your way around to the rest of our brothers and sisters?”

“I saved you for last,” the Protector answered.

Taken aback by the answer, he asked skeptically, “Why me?”

She adjusted her head on his shoulder and whispered, “Because you were always my favorite student.”


	22. The Gerudo Secret

“You haven’t even touched your wine,” interrupted Sasha in the middle of Rowark’s telling of his days as a page. There was nothing about the viscous velvet or the pungent smell that inspired an appetite. Not even a desire for intoxication could fortify his stomach for another sip. He had spent the past hour or so talking about shoveling horse dung, polishing swords and shields, drilling, and all the other trivial details of page life just to avoid another whiff of the foul miasma.

Rowark sat on a plush cushion across the circular, cherrywood table from his hostess. Sunlight filled the room and covered all its exotic furniture with a fierce, sunset glow. The sweet, aroma of the room thankfully overpowered the wine’s foul odor.

He politely replied, “I am not thirsty.”

The courtesan gazed deeply into his eyes, as if trying to search for the truth in his mind, “I know that is a lie.” The vexing smile on her face disturbed Rowark more than it put him at ease. Behind the face she wore, it was very difficult to tell what she was feeling underneath. This conversation between the two was merely sport to her, and her defenses were always up. Then she stood up and walked over to her dresser behind her, “After a cup full of wine, I always thirst for some tea. Would you like some?”

Trying to imitate her calculated composure, Rowark shrugged, “As long as it does not burn my mouth.”

“Ha!” laughed Sasha, even though it was hard to tell whether the laugh was genuine or not. “You have nothing to worry about, my friend,” she reassured him as she walked back and placed a dark gray, ceramic cup in front of him. Lifting the warm cup up to his nose, Rowark cautiously smelled the flowery aroma, and then he inhaled deeply once he recognized the distinct yet familiar smell of the deku flower. This was definitely a drink he missed from his time spent camping near the south woods.

“Enough of your young days,” said Sasha as she sat down next to him with her own cup of tea, “tell me about some of your great tales of bravery.”

Rowark sipped on his Deku flower tea and scoffed, “You mock me.” She must have met some of the greatest knights Hyrule had ever seen.

“Was I being condescending?” was her polite response, which did little to reassure him.

“Surely you must have heard them all,” he deflected.

“I have heard many tales from many knights, yes” confessed Sasha, “But I have not heard them all.”

The city guard humbly dropped his eyes to his tea, “I assure you my stories are quite boring in comparison.”

“Have you been in battle before?”

“Yes.”

“And have you killed a man before?”

Rowark paused. He felt uncomfortable answering the question, but not answering the question was as much of an answer. “Yes,” Rowark answered truthfully.

“Then surely one of your gallant deeds must have launched such a young boy into knighthood.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rowark lamented, “I think you got me mistaken for a hero of some sort who has slayed countless men and beasts. Sadly, I am not one of them. I fight in a unit. I have held a spear in my hand, yes, and I have thrust the point into men’s hearts, but that is because doing as I am told and trusting everyone else to do the same is my best chance of survival. Killing people is but the last intention I have. I am not the warrior like Boom is.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Believe me when I say that most of the knights I have ‘personally’ met,” her eyes tilted upwards, as if reminiscing of partners past, “were not promoted for cutting down men by the scores.”

Did a courtesan know something about the military that Rowark didn’t know? “Then, what for?”

Sasha responded with a smile which alone convinced Rowark her words were truth, “Many times, it’s for saving a comrade in battle. Other times it is for accomplishing missions against overwhelming odds. What does the Queen like to say? For rising above the call of duty?”

 _Did the Queen say that for everyone?_ Oddly, the answer to his question did not make her words feel any cheaper, only more united with the men who had been knighted by the Queen.

Silence again. For the better part of how many hours they were sitting there together, much of their broken conversations started, carried, and then faded into the nothingness before repeating the cycle. Sometimes, Rowark asked her a question about her heritage, and other times Sasha asked about his military past. Any questions about his life before his recruitment oftentimes killed the flow of dialogue.

During the moments of quiet, Rowark did his best to feel happy for his friends, who were certainly enjoying their time more here than he was. Sasha broke the silence again by summoning a question out of thin air, “So where were you stationed before your promotion?”

“Well,” where was Rowark to start? He had stayed in the city for many years, but he had also been transferred between companies on a few occasions as well, and then there were all the volunteer companies that he had deployed with too, “well, um, I was stationed here in the city for the past five years, I was on watch duty all throughout. Then my company got assigned to a campaign.”

“Which one?”

He hesitated to tell her. Would she even know the difference between them? “The Sixty Fifth Sortie to Quell the Insurgency of Faron Woods.”

“Ah, the peasant’s uprising led by a Runeth Yeoman. You were assigned to that campaign, led by the inspiring Sir Berlon?”

“Yes, um,” inspiring was not the word he would have described the short and portly commander, “how did you know?”

“After the campaign, where do you think all the boys went?” The answer to the rhetorical question stung. Rowark would not have been the least bit surprised if Lemon, Boom, Garreth, and Tenny buried their grief in womanly flesh while he was fighting to live another day in the Lost Woods. “So what was your role in the battle?”

“I never made it to the battle, actually,” said Rowark as he nervously scratched the back of his head, “I uh, I got assigned to scouting duty. I’d never gotten transferred to a different company before, but it was, well, not a good first experience. It was my first time scouting the enemy, but I, uh, made a rookie mistake,” he had never forgiven himself for forgetting to put out the fire before he fell asleep, “and got ambushed on my way back. Nine of them,” equipped with armor too progressive and armed with an arsenal of weaponry too advanced for what was supposed to be a peasant army, “snuck up on me while I was camped in the woods. Goddesses, I still don’t know how I managed to get out of that alive!”

“Oh, but how?” asked Sasha, intrigued.

“I ran, of course,” was the brutally dull, anticlimactic truth he was okay with telling, “I was only armed with a spear, a knife, and a sling, and they had also just taken my horse. So I ran into the forest, and they continued chasing me further inward. But then they suddenly stopped chasing me.”  He remembered the pursuing enemy and could recreate just about every detail, from perfectly timing sword swings to shooting his sling, from his memory. Or perhaps his mind would never let him forget any moment that put Rowark in a fight or die mindset: either he lived, or the pursuant on horseback lived. “Looking back, I could see why now,” he chuckled to himself. No sane man would ever willingly submit himself to the horrors of the Lost Woods like Rowark had unwillingly done.

Her subtle smile conveyed her deepened interest more than her question did, “So what happened next?”

“Well, I got lost,” he chuckled, and she did the same, “Thank Farore it was spring and the snow was melting. I survived as best I could throughout the season until I met my fairy companion, Miro Miro, who led me out of the woods and back here to Hyrule Castle City. Just yesterday.” Only yesterday. Holy Hero, had he returned home only yesterday? “Ha ha,” he nervously chuckled as he concentrated to make sense of everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours.

“Is that why you were knighted?” Sasha’s question broke him out of his train of thought.

“Um, no.” Rowark sighed hesitantly. The events of the prior evening were still burned into his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was think about the heat of the fires threatening to consume him. “The knight who recommended my promotion wasn’t even my commanding knight. On the day I returned to Castle City, which was yesterday by the way, there was a fire,” Rowark started, not wanting to continue any further, “I’m sure you heard all about it.”

Sasha frowned, “I did. Five people died, and a little girl lost her family. Were you there?”

“I deployed with the 5th Volunteer company to assist with fire extinguishing efforts on the day of my homecoming. Then things got complicated. We were ordered to do nothing, there were people trapped in the building.”

“You saved them.”

“I…” tears began to well in his eyes. Emotions ran through his head, and he no longer cared that he was about to bawl in front of a woman he had just met, “I couldn’t save the girl’s family.” Tears began to streak down his face once he said what had been on his mind all morning. He swore he could still vividly feel the moisture on his shoulders from the orphan’s tears from the night before. The feeling of inadequacy rose from his heart and exited his eyes as salty water, “I did not deserve to be knighted!”

Sasha quickly withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to Rowark, “Aww, do not feel that way. You may not have been able to save the girl’s parents, but saving the girl meant the world to her. You still did the right thing.”

“It was my duty to save her, and her family!” said Rowark angrily as he rejected the gesture, even though the tears flowed fiercely down his face. It was not like him lose his cool like this, but he never knew knights that were too afraid to help out those in need. He never knew politics and laws could be designed to keep innocent people from being saved. “I was sworn to keep Hyrule’s citizens safe! I am no different from any of the other watchmen, nor am I any better! Other men slay bandits and ruffians by the hundreds, and they never get knighted! The only difference is that I’m a failure!”

“You are not a failure, you are different from the rest.”

The word _different_ struck a nerve. Anger pierced through Rowark’s silence, having heard every synonym for the word _different_ but experienced the same harsh treatment from his peers everyday, heard the word _queer_ thrown at him behind his back, heard every excuse behind why he ate alone and why nobody in his company liked him, and heard every question whispered amongst his peers about his affinity for women. He never asked to be different; he only wanted acceptance. Even after killing a man for the first time, a detestable act that forced him to vomit after the battle, he thought he would finally provide common ground with his many thousands of compatriots. Instead, the only people who bothered to eat with him were the ones too selfish to think about what Rowark wanted to do for promotion his celebration. Though Rowark wanted to be angry at his brothers in arms for enforcing their idea of fun on his celebration, they were the closest thing to friends that he had ever had.

“Many men come to the Desert Oasis once they have been knighted, whether by the Queen or their liege. And when they come here, all they do is boast of the biggest creatures they’ve slain or the hundreds of men they have have cut down with their blades,” it sounded like Sasha had heard the same stories too many times, “But when I asked exactly why they got promoted, they always gave me the same answer. They arrive to drilling promptly and follow orders faithfully. They volunteer frequently. And when that pivotal moment arrived with brutality and placed everyone in in chaos or danger, it was he that placed himself in charge of the crucial moment that was the one who eventually became a knight.”

What Sasha said sounded so unbelievably simple and defied any conventional, chivalrous logic. But the way she said it made so much sense. Rowark dared not ask how closely she knew these men, but common sense implied that intimacy also tended to lead to braggadocio. Her conclusion put him at ease. Perspective had granted him forgiveness to himself. _I did all I could_ , he told himself, _I did my best_.

Sasha broke into a lighthearted laugh and handed him her red handkerchief, “I have never met a man who believed he was unworthy of the honor bestowed upon him by the Queen herself!”

Rowark sniffled and accepted the handkerchief before blowing his nose, “I wish I had more than just my modesty that separated me from the others.”

“Of course there is more. Men tend to think that an act of bravery means being able to cut down whatever foe stands before them, but I see it differently. Any man can swing a sword and cut through flesh if ordered, but not every man is willing to risk his life when he knows the odds are not in his favor. Not only were you willing to act in spite of the odds, but you also prioritized Hylian life above politics,” she had said all of this as motherly as possible, and it truly helped lift Rowark’s spirits. Given all of Rowark’s prior distrust of her, listening to Sasha removed much of the wariness, “It truly takes a wise and compassionate kind of soldier to see through the laws and policies of Hylian society for what they are and protect what is truly important, the people.”

He sniffed and wiped a tear away. All Rowark could do was smile in response to her kindness, “Thank you, I needed that.” A sentimental wave of happiness and gratitude compelled him to lean in for a hug.

“Clearly,” Sasha quickly went back to her teasing self and returned the embrace. Warmth was beginning to build between their skins before she finally broke the gesture and said, “You seem comfortable enough,” before she began slipping off her long sleeves, sending a torrent of blood up Rowark’s face.

“Whoa, um, what are you doing?” Rowark realized how stupid that question was given their setting.

“Getting more comfortable,” she said while slowly peeling the sleeves off. “Tell me you have seen a woman undress before,” she said with her hands gripped onto the bottom of her pink, cropped blouse.

As she slowly yet seductively began peeling the top off, Rowark shook his head and looked away.

“You grow endearing by the minute,” Sasha took pleasure from Rowark’s discomfort, he was sure of it.

“This isn’t funny anymore,” he said, blushed and annoyed.

“Well, I am honored to be the first woman that you will have seen naked,” and with that, the courtesan pulled off her top completely and revealed her bosom to Rowark, who was still looking away, “You can peek. Don’t be shy.”

Once his eyes caught a glimpse of her large, exposed breasts, he looked away again and sighed, “I am sorry for not being, um...”

Sasha chuckled, “Accustomed to this? You have nothing to apologize for. You may be a knight, but you truly are just a boy underneath the title.”

Rowark frowned, “Stop it.”

“The way your eyes are avoiding me is beginning to make me feel unattractive.”

“Sorry,” he took a deep breath and promptly turned to face her. Offending his hostess was the last thing he wanted to do, but seeing a topless woman for the first time made him feel more uncomfortable and self-conscious than any of his comrades’ jests about his virginity could. _Why me?_ Rowark cursed to himself.

Her hand pushed the bottle of wine towards Rowark, “Drink some more wine, that will certainly calm you down.”

Wanting to drink anything other than wine, Rowark still reluctantly poured the Cobra’s blood into his chalice and followed through with Sasha’s suggestion with a big gulp. He then downed his hot, bitter tea which helped assuage the burning in his mouth. He hoped his indigestion would help divert his attention away from her indecency.

“Shall I continue?” asked the temptress as she crept around the table.

“Wait,” he was clearly not ready, and he had other thoughts on his mind besides trying to keep two plump breasts from reaching him.

She stopped her approach at his command, “Do you need some more time to adjust to my nudity?”

“Um, no,” there was no point in hiding his discomfort by this point, “Uh, um, I’m sorry, mmm, I’m just... not ready yet, sorry.” He kept his eyes stared straight down, his hands trembling.

Had his eyes looked at Sasha’s face then they would have seen her frown, sympathetic to his cause. “Listen, if you don’t want today to be the day, then we can simply talk until your companions are done with their meal.” Once Rowark lifted his eyes to meet hers again, Sasha had already replaced the blouse back on herself.

Delighted, he thanked her from the bottom of his now relieved heart, “Thank you so much for understanding! But, um, can we tell a different story to the men?”

“Ha! What would you like me to tell your companions?”

“Tell me it happened, please? Enough for them to get them off my back about it, once and for all.”

Sinister intentions crept into her coy smile, “I have a counter-offer for you.”

“Oh Goddess…”

“I ask any one single question about you, and you must answer it as truthfully as possible.”

A loud, hesitant sigh erupted. It was only fair, “Only if my answer stays a secret.”

Sasha sipped on her tea and acknowledged his response with her eyebrows like loading a question into a crossbow and communicating, _If you lie, I’ll know_. And somehow, Rowark had to search for that trigger that was hidden somewhere behind her face before she asked the wrong question.

Perhaps, he could take control of the conversation so that she would forget? “May I ask you something first?”

“Oh?” the question threw off Sasha, who Rowark was sure had never had a patron try to delay a good sheathing like he had been doing, “I may have an answer.”

“What will you tell the other women who work here?”

“About what?”

“About, our affair.”

The corner of her lip lifted, “That becomes a _Gerudo secret_.”

Rowark gulped, “What’s that?” it was not the answer he wanted to hear and not the question he should have asked.

“A secret so long as you know how to speak the language. Don’t worry, though. These secrets never leave the walls of the Desert Oasis. We have, specialists, who handle anybody who would dare break that trust between my girls and our clientele. I am afraid too much of our reputation is largely staked on our power of discretion.”

His eyebrow picked up, “What kind of secrets?”

“You are playing a dangerous game, boy,” now she was talking down on her by the way she emphasized the last word, “If I were you, I would leave that question unanswered.”

Nearly ten years of serving in Hyrule’s military, training in how to survive, and watching men fall lifeless around him still could not give him the resolve to perk up and confidently say, “It is my duty to face danger.”

Her unamused expression remained unchanged, “You may have fought in battles before. You may have even killed a man before. But what you are asking for will put you in a place where you will be anticipating death from unknown enemies. You are just a boy, do not go down this road.”

“Don’t chastise me,” the quick retort from Rowark took her slightly back, “I know I haven’t, done it, like the others, yet, but I have fought side by side with some of the bravest paladins in Her Majesty’s ranks.”

“You are dangerous,” she sighed with a sly smile, “but you are also foolish. What would you do with such knowledge?”

“I would easily put it to use to protect the realm.”

“Ha,” was the forced, sarcastic laugh that came from Sasha’s mouth, “I think you’re protecting the wrong realm.” My sisters are butchered on the streets because people think we are one of Ganondorf’s many offspring. I have watched the Hylian people publicly burn children alive, saw it happen with my own eyes, because they believed they were born from witches.” Her words resonated dissonantly against the strings of truth. Many of Rowark’s previous deployments within the city, both volunteer and official, had to deal with angry mobs. Disciplined, well trained, and orderly patience versus raw, chaotic, and uncivilized hate. Each rise of the sun over the Eastern Cliff seemed to offer a different excuse for the peasants to be upset.

High taxes, medicine shortages, food shortages, ale shortages, unclean water, the Gerudo, the Gorons, the Dekus, the Lizalfos, all the different types of blins, witches, witches’ children, religious heresy, greedy aldermen, high crime, corruption, aggressive army recruitment, unsafe streets, a neighbor nobody liked, even traffic ironically were but a few on the list of invitations for mob violence. Even worse than guessing what they were mad about was guessing where and when one would show up!

“Protecting Hyrule is not worth your time or your life,” she concluded. After last night, even he began to question the very laws he swore to uphold and the very society he swore to protect. Rowark sighed in resignation and looked at his wine. His time serving as a page under Sir Berlon’s campaign had simple instructions: serve faithfully and learn promptly.

It was no secret that many of the Hyborns sponsored much of the criminal activity, and it was obvious that many lords and peers openly opposed the Queen even though they once kneeled in fealty to Her previously. With all the landed individuals of the realm scheming and feuding away from the public eye, it was going to be difficult determining who was friendly and who was not. Even more problematic was keeping up with the alliances that seemed to change as frequently as the weather did.

Rowark suddenly felt a finger brush his straight, blonde hair and found that Sasha had somehow covertly moved into his comfortable space without alerting. “Aww, don’t look so sad,” she said, forcing blood into his blushed face, “There, that’s much better.”

He looked up and forced a smile, “Oh I’m, um, I’m not sad. I do know exactly what you are talking about. I’ve seen it too.”

“Don’t worry about the things you cannot change in Hyrule,” Sasha leaned in closer and planted a succulent kiss on his reddened cheek, “Focus on the pleasure.”

Once again, he felt uncomfortable around her, not because of her intrusive mannerisms, but because of the way her keen eyes was scanning his body language. And then her eyes studied Rowark’s groin as if she could see through his thick trousers. Slowly, Rowark lifted one leg over and turned away from her but also attempted not to be so rude as to avoid eye contact, painfully awkward as it was.

She leaned in closer and placed her hands on the inside of his thigh, sending a flurry of panicked thoughts into Rowark’s head as he fell into chaotic embarrassment. Her eyes trailed from his nethers up to his beet red face and grinned wickedly, “For my question… that you must answer honestly…”

Rowark gulped very audibly.

“Are you…” _Please don’t say Queer, please don’t say Queer, please don’t say Queer_. Her eyes glanced back down once again before piercing into his eyes. Her advance was too much for him to stay calm, so he backed away and stood up. In that one heartbeat of movement, a minute’s worth of thoughts of insecurities and doubts flooded through his mind.

“Queer?”

He held his breath. He did not know what to do or say. Could he tell a stranger the truth? Images of his past flashed into his mind. He saw his home village again, his family, his sister… his father...

“It’s okay,” she whispered with her subtle attempt to lower Rowark’s guard, “many of my sisters and daughters are Queer…” Rowark’s heart raced faster as he visibly contemplated breaking his oath to keep his promise about being truthful. However, it was not the first time, he had to break the Second Golden law to save himself.

With a violent turn of the doorknob, the door suddenly swung open. A Gerudo wearing a headband and leather pauldrons quickly stepped in. Her hair was not dressed in any fancy way, just a slick ponytail straight down to her hip. The glaive she was carrying meant that she was anything but a courtesan.

“Sasha, we have a problem,” she said with urgency.

Her sister’s intrusion had grabbed the Directorate’s attention, thereby breaking the staring. “What is so imperative that you cannot knock when I’m busy?” said Sasha annoyingly.

“Another mob.”

Sasha scowled, “Another? Leave them be. They will tire soon and go home.” It made sense that the Gerudo were a favorite target of the peasants’ ire. Sometimes mobs were formed in response to something a herald had said by accident, but nothing made Hylians more mad than simply being, well, not Hylian.

“Not just any protest, the entire square is swarmed with the vermin, and they are defacing our homes with feces!” her sister’s choice of terms for the people outside the establishment unsettled Rowark as if he was not uncomfortable yet. Only the pressure building from his lungs distracted him from all his thoughts.

Growling furiously, Sasha followed her sister out the door and unapologetically commanded him, “Stay here,” before exiting and shutting the door as she left.


	23. No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

“Link! Wake up!” Miro Miro cried out loudly, to which Link responded with unconscious groans of massive pain and discomfort.

After sustaining several serious injuries from the fight and falling from several stories high, it was a miracle the Kokiri was still alive. A trail of blood began where Link made painful impact against the cobblestone ground and followed him to where his tumble came to a halt. Link’s black attire were riddled with bloody openings, and his limbs looked like they were twisted all the wrong ways. Miro Miro wondered if he would ever be able to walk again. However, Link had bigger issues.

Any heartbeat now, there was going to be a very angry Gerudo hellbent on revenge.

She tried to wake him up again, “Link! She’s going to be here soon!”

“Shut up I know! ARGH!” Link rudely yelled back at her before screaming in agonizing pain. His body tensed up as he tried to wriggle the stiffness out of his bones and muscle and fix whatever was not bent right. He then planted his hands onto the ground and attempted to lift himself up, grunting with effort. “AAHH!” he exerted in pain as he put pressure onto his broken arms and hand, and the painful yell echoed between the cream colored walls of the Gerudo establishments.

But to no avail. Link collapsed back onto the stone ground and shallowly gasped for air. If Miro Miro did nothing, she was going to watch Link die at this very location. But what could she possibly do?

“Hey, fairy, what’s your name?” Link’s question caught her off guard.

“Miro Miro.”

Link screamed as he tested the mobility of his broken limbs, which was modest, but painstaking. “Okay. Miro Miro,” he said in between grunted breaths, “I need you to do something for me.”

Miro Miro dreaded that this was going to be Link’s final request before his murderous way of life finally caught up to him. “Anything,” she surprisingly said without hesitation.

Several painful clacks of the bone seemed to restore some rotational movement he needed. “I need you to stall her,” said Link as he slowly yet agonizingly reached for the ropeshot.

“M-m-me?” What could she possibly do to stall Link’s impending death?

“Did I stutter?” karma had responded to his rude remark with acute pain as he attempted to fix his left elbow. “Raagh! Yes, you!”

“H-how, wha, how do I exactly do that?”

“Rrg, I dunno. Bite her, talk to her, just keep her inside the tower for as long as possible.”

_ No way! This is suicide! I’m not going up there for... _ “Okay,” she said instead, “I can do this. Yes.”  _ No, no! What have I done!? _ Her motherly instincts had successfully overpowered her own will. But how would her motherly instincts fare against a fearsome warrior? The very thought of confronting that Gerudo stirred up every negative emotion inside her.

And when she began fluttering back up towards the tower, the tension inside her grew with each beat of the wing. A boy she had just met only a few hours ago had practically just sent her on a suicidal errand, and she willingly agreed! Why!? As Miro Miro climbed higher closer to the little dark window against the bright stone reflecting the fading hours of sunlight, she could not shake the feeling that somehow, fate was drawing her to this place, that she was coming here for a reason beyond what Link had asked of her. How far was she willing to go for this Kokiri? Suddenly, a question popped in her head that had even disgusted her, was this Kokiri even worth saving?

_ Welp, there’s only one way to find out. Great Deku Tree, please guide me. _ Without a second thought, she continued climbing until she was level with the window and the two sisters.

One kneeled over and held the lifeless other in her hands. The tears of grief rang in Miro Miro’s heart, for it was an emotion felt by all. Her lips moved and softly muttered Gerudo poetry to her fallen twin. Even though Miro Miro could not translate each foreign word uttered with each breath, but she knew the feeling of a sad poem, like the Ode for Tomorrow which was sung for the Old Deku Tree when he died.

_ Okay, nothing fancy, just stalling her _ … Remembering her objective, Miro Miro waited just outside the window, delaying the approach until the very last moment. The woman fell silent after she was done reciting her goodbye to her sister. After planting a final kiss on the forehead, the grieving sister laid her sister to rest and stood up as a warrior. This was Miro Miro’s chance to butt in, “Um, excuse me.”

“Go away,” the cold answer even chilled the summer air around Miro Miro.

“I…” hesitation flooded her soul and prevented her from saying anything further. What could she say? Perhaps honesty was a good place to start? “I feel horrible… for your loss.”

“You don’t know what I am feeling.”

“No. You are right. I am a mere fairy from the forest. Companion to a Kokiri. I had become a mother to a loving boy, but I lost him twenty eight years ago. So, I could never know your loss.”

“Speak and be gone! Unless you speak for  _ Cica _ !” the way she roared out his Gerudo name had nearly petrified Miro Miro in place, “then there is nothing for you to say.”

“What would it take?”  _ Here we go, _ she trembled inside, facing an cavalcade of incoherent thoughts and anxiety while she awaited for an answer. “For you to spare his life?” if she was not clear enough.

Suddenly, Minja, or Kinja, picked her head up and finally looked Miro Miro dead in the eye. There was a long, dramatic pause before she delivered her ultimatum…

“You must offer your life to revive my sister.”

_ Oh no _ ... Is this what fate had brought Miro Miro all the way out here for? Would she trade her life to save a dying Kokiri, however far astray he may have been led? Link may have turned rotten, but Miro Miro knew that even Father had a place in his heart for the lost Kokiri, for the Great Deku Tree loved all life fiercely. How cruel that this long journey through the Lost Woods and then to Castle City was Father’s way of asking Miro Miro to absolve this boy’s sins... At least then Miro Miro wouldn’t have to deal with the hazards of Hyrule Castle City anymore.  _ I need you to stall her for me _ , Link’s voice crept inside her head. She sighed and switched tactics, “Is there… any other possible way you could think of? Without involving my life?”

There was silence, and then a slow, deadly shake of the head. The dead seriousness of her dual colored eyes cut through Miro Miro’s soul and caused the fairy to tremble.

“Um…” there had to be another way, “Maybe I could, you know, find another wa-?”

“You must choose now,” abruptly interrupted the woman. An bloodcurdling breeze coursed ferociously between the two, forcing Miro Miro to adjust her flight and carrying the strands of her velvety hair up in the wind. The longer the Gerudo stared at Miro Miro, the more Miro Miro wanted to flee, “Give up your life, or watch  _ Cica _ die.”

Well, when she put it that way, Miro Miro had to frantically search for another question to throw  at her direction, “Um, wha- what guarantee do I have that you, you know, will hold your end of the bargain?”

“If my sister lives once more, we can collect our bounty, and  _ Cica _ is only valuable to us if he is alive, so you have my word he will live.”

Miro Miro gulped. It had come down to this. Link was a killer. But he was also one of the Great Deku Tree’s children, and she had a duty to protect all of His offspring. But if she sacrificed her life here, how many more dangers must Link face? Would it be better for her to stay alive and help Link survive instead of letting the Gerudo see her sister live once more?

“HAHAhaha!” laughter burst from the Gerudo’s mouth, drawing confusion from Miro Miro, “Oh, I jest! You fairies sure are gullible! Did you seriously not know?” Miro Miro felt insulted, “Fairies can only bring back Hylians to life. It is why Hylians think themselves above us. Like they are the chosen people or something.” Miro Miro was unsure of which fact was more shocking, that her life could actually bring back people from the dead or that she was about to throw away her life for no reason. “There was nothing you could have offered me to change my mind. I made a pact together with my sister when we were children. He who brought down one, must be killed by the other. At all costs.”

Her hair waved as stood up and brandished the fearsome blade with her bloodied arm and walked over to the edge of the window, “I know he cannot go far in his state. There is nowhere he can go where I cannot find him.”

_ Oh no _ , this was it. Miro Miro had done all she could, and afterward she could only helplessly watch the Gerudo fall off the edge to chase her prey. Well, there was no sense in staying in the room with a dead corpse, Miro Miro pursued Link’s pursuant and dove off the cliff after her. She had to reach Link before the Gerudo did and warn him with the little time he had left.

Using her uninjured arm, the warrior scaled down the wall almost as if she were running along it, and at her pace, she was nearly keeping up with Miro Miro. However, the fairy was the first to see the bloody trail paved along the space between the spire and its neighbor whose architecture was starkly different from all the others. When she had arrived, Link was nowhere to be found, only a straight path of blood led to a mess of broken, wooden crates near the end of the alley, where the trail ended in a small, collected pool.

It was not long before Kinja was standing four stories above Miro Miro. The Gerudo jumped off the ledge, caught onto the window sill below, then repeated this three more times until she dropped down onto the fresh blood. She touched the blood and studied the red liquid on her fingers, finally tasting it. Miro Miro helplessly watched as her eyes searched along the blood trail for his whereabouts. Simultaneously, their vision honed in on the cape near at the end of the alley.

As Miro Miro raced towards the cape, she began to hear a cacophony of shouts coming from the sunlit street, and when she rounded the corner, she saw the crowd of people crying loudly in anger. There had to have been at least a few hundred Hylians, packed in tightly, standing in front of the Desert Oasis carrying weapons in their hands. Their aggressive hollers made Miro Miro afraid they were going to attack at any moment. As much as the Lost Woods native objected the concept of the Gerudo house of bump-bump, the angry crowd of people looked like they had less than righteous intentions.

Judging by the way the bloody trail agonizingly trailed into the hostile masses, Miro Miro could only guess that Link had slipped into the swamp of hateful sentiments.

“Burn the sinners!” “Burn the spawns of Ganondorf!” “Burn the witches!” were just a few of the angry messages thrown at Gerudos in addition to the rocks and glass.

Standing at the receiving end of the aggression, the two Gerudo dancers were now reinforced by a dozen of their armed sisters. Their bronze helmets had visors shielding their face, and their dark brown pauldrons were fitted for their petite shapes. Only two metal vambraces protected their arms, and only two metal greaves protected their legs. The Gerudo sentries wielded their fearsome glaives, curved blades as long as any sword blade attached to a wooden pole, and stood unflinchingly against the barrage of stones.

And there was Rowark standing behind the sentries. Although Miro Miro had sort of hoped he was unclothed, as she imagined he would have been inside the Gerudo tower, she was glad he had the decency to emerge from the tower with something on. But she was also hoping that he was armed; maybe he would be the one to prevent any escalation. With the way his face frowned, Rowark looked unsure of himself, his next course of action, and his involvement in this whole matter altogether. The way the Hylians were behaving made defending the Gerudos easier.

There was no time to worry about what Rowark was thinking; Link was in trouble. Miro Miro darted around the tense atmosphere, carefully flying high enough to avoid the attention.  _ What was he wearing? Oh right! _ she thought to herself. She began looking for his black shirt and black pants. His poor sense of fashion should have easily stood out in broad daylight, but the swarm of Hylians was so thick that she could barely see all the way to the pavement, even as she lowered herself closer and closer to ground level.

The Gerudo had a much different tactic of searching through the crowd. She utilized her free arm, impervious to the bloody stab wounds, to forcefully push people aside and marched straight through the sea of bodies.

“Hey!” yelled the Hylian who was pushed aside. Kinja’s disregard for her surroundings did not go unnoticed.

A burly, bearded man foolishly grabbed her by her injured arm, “Sinner! The Golden Goddesses will puni-” Her forehead shot into the taller Hylian’s face, cutting him short. Her hands extended forth to shove faces out of her way as she pushed her way through the thick masses to find Link.

Kinja’s resort to violence incited the entire crowd. Hands reached forth to grab onto her limbs and immobilize her. She responded with a powerful front kick that sent a poor woman tumbling backwards, which unbalanced the group of people in the way of her momentum. Using this space that she had just created, Kinja walked undeterred and swung her sword, intentionally avoiding flesh while making it clear that she was not hesitant to cut through anything that stood between her and her prey.

The hands retracted back into the crowd, safety was now the top priority. Anyone standing in front of Kinja quickly scrambled out of her path, except for the middle aged woman who was kicked down. Hyperventilating and trembling, the protester backed away from the incoming threat on all fours as fast as her pudgy body could.

Suddenly, a piece of Link’s black shirt protruded from underneath the protester.  _ Oh no! She’s on top of Link! _ Miro Miro thought in her head. She could not imagine the pain Link must have been suffering through from supporting the weight of the woman sitting on top of him.

Kinja pointed her blade threateningly at the woman in front of her. “Move,” the Gerudo impatiently commanded, to which the protester nodded and crawled out of the way without hesitation…

Seeing only the black tunic and not the body on the ground, Miro Miro then realized why Link did not scream in pain from being crushed.

The unamused Kinja turned around and glared into Miro Miro’s soul, growling, “Where is he?”

The fairy was just as confused as the Gerudo was, “I - I don’t know…”

A gruffy man carrying a pitchfork charged at her with his weapon lowered, “Kill the witch!” The mass of people followed him and quickly enclosed her. Another voice in the crowd cried, “Get ‘er! She can’t get all of us!” Her first instinct was to chop downward at the pitchfork, separating the head from the body. To prevent anyone from closing in behind her, she bent over, lifted her heel and thrust it into the nearest, bearded face.

Swinging her legs in tandem with her sword, the Gerudo warrior danced around trying to create open space between herself and the angry mob. While her sword swings were effective at keeping the people in front of her away, it would not be long before the sea of people behind her shrugged off her high kick, and she did not have the speed to deal everyone at once. It was not long before their hands would reach her. Once enough hands had gripped her sword arm, it was over for Kinja.

Suddenly, Miro Miro felt a strange heat coming from the Gerudo. It felt like a warm breeze at first, but then the current of the air began forcefully swirl through the crowd. As Kinja’s heavy breathing turned into snarling, the air around her rapidly became more heated and more violent.

“RAAHH!!” Kinja furiously yelled. Within a blink of an eye, purple flames began to form around her body and licked the protester’s flammable clothing; before anyone could figure out what was going on, the purple flames had completely immolated the Gerudo and burst forth into a inferno. The force of the fiery explosion pushed everyone back. Screams of panic instantly followed, and the crowd, fleeing from the raging flames, quickly dispersed in all directions. Those that were too close when the immolation began were either dead or crying in agonizing pain as the purple flames consumed their flesh.

Only Miro Miro stayed in place. That was not to say she was not scared; if she were a full grown, Hylian man, she would have wet herself by now. The fully immolated and naked Kinja stood immune to the burning heat and pointed her sword at Miro Miro.

“Where! Is!  _ CICA _ !?”


	24. 28 Years Ago (part 3)

_The 20th day of Winter_

The children huddled together to stave off the blistering cold. While some of the frailer, weaker children like Topah enjoyed the warmth of being in the interior of the group, the bigger boys, like Curry and Micki, and the Protector stayed on the outside to shield the interior from the windchill. Through the cold and cloudy days and the freezing nights, the Bokoblins marched four by four along the narrow, familiar path.

At first, the route was recognizable. The marching line escorted the children through a pathway made for the Kokiri to traverse safely from their village to the Deku's. It was also the only path Father allowed the children to traverse when venturing outside the village. Though the foliage was dense along the edges of the road, the children knew these fruits and greens, growing abundantly in between the trees, were safe for picking. The road stretched on through the thick canopy until it reached Deko-Ra village, the only known Deku settlement to the Kokiri.

Pulling the cage on wheels, the giant Bulblin, twice the height of its kin, trudged forward mindlessly and left a foul smell that never left a child's nose. Directly behind the children was the King Bulblin, or so they assumed based on three distinctions: his spear length horns were the longest of the Bulblins, his red pupils closely watched them, and his massive bullos was massive, twice as large as any one that his subordinates rode. Always giving the orders, and never the other way around, the King only spoke in his gruntish, native tongue to his heavily armed retainers who then issued the King's orders to the rank-and-file using the mutually known Deku tongue.

 _"Make camp!"_ The order would be shouted many times down the marching line before each Blin separated from the marching line to mark a space to sleep for the night. In several minutes, spots of fire began to take sprout throughout the thick woods, a major infraction of Father's sacred rule to never start a fire outside the village, and soon the entire blin army turned the entire forest floor into a glowing sea of light. While the Blins warmed themselves haphazardly with their fires, the children took turns rotating those on the outside with those who had warmed themselves by being in the center of the group.

Of the accommodations given to the Kokiri, between a giant cage for them to sleep in, a single chamberpot to share, a vat to collect rainwater, and an endless supply of meat, the food was the hardest part to adjust to.

On Topah's first day since being thrown in the prison, a hunting party presented to the King hundreds of keese, five goats, three deer, and a fat wild boar. Seeing the dead forest creatures tied and then gutted open caused a great number of children to cry. They were in no shape to eat the first meal the Blins served to the Kokiri captives, which was leftover meat from the ribs, something they had never seen before in a society that only foraged vegetables, herbs, and fruits. When they all smelled roasted flesh for the first time, many of them cried even harder, and the others wretched. Not a single child even dared to go near the meat, so a dark red Bokoblin snatched the food away for himself. The day after, another platter of the King's leftover meat scraps and bones was left before them, and again, no one dared go near the food.

On the third day, one of the Bulblin commanders threw a platter of a fresh cut of meat. Though each child initially felt sick from the smell, the aroma eventually permeated its way into some of the children's hunger, which was causing the meat to smell better and better. The first to approach the foul meat was Merry, a sister who had a weak constitution even when she was healthy and was known for her voracious appetite at all the public feasts.

Protests erupted from her friends, "No don't, Merry! That came from the deer!" "That's my favorite animal!" "You're going to eat one of our friends!"

"ENOUGH!" screamed the Protector over everyone, "We need to survive, so we need to eat! Merry," her expression melted into understanding, "go on ahead. Take a bite for all of us and let us know how it tastes."

Merry reluctantly nodded and then crawled to the browned flesh. She picked up a piece of meat with a bone shoved through and then took a bite. Upon tasting the meat, however, she spat out the chunk of food with disgust.

This had also caught the attention of the King Bulblin, who roared furiously at his men when Merry forcefully coughed out his offering. His voice thundered so loudly that it scattered his Bulblin soldiers and Bokoblin minions in all directions for their lives. They panicked in their own language, but when they settled, they began to complain across species using Deku about wetting themselves.

Finally, a Bokoblin with red, flabby skin and cheeks that drooped beneath his chin approached the children, " _Please tell, what do your people eat?_ " Though he looked frail on the outside, the wooden beaded necklace and his long walking stick with a Blin skull stuck through gave him a venerable silence as all Blins watched the old man converse with the Kokiri.

The Protector, who had up until then done her best to look as strong as the first day, responded fiercely, " _My siblings do NOT eat the flesh of the murdered!_ "

The frail elder kept his poise, " _T_ _he question was not what do you not eat, the question was what DO you eat?_ "

" _We are a peaceful people who live off the fruits, the seeds, and the greens of the forest!_ "

The elder nodded and translated the message to the Bulblin King, who then roared new orders to one of his personal guards, a shorter Bulblin wearing a fearsome pauldron with two spearheads attached, who then broke off with his own retinue of Bokoblin riders.

However, the first several attempts were not successful. Out of the dozens of different, colorful flora presented before the children, about a third of them were actually animal parts, another third were known, poisonous plants, and the majority of the rest were parts of unidentified foliage. That left only a child's handful of raw Deku flowers for some of them to chew on. The proportion of edible foods increased day by day, though it took the Blins several days before the edible flora finally outnumbered the monster limbs, and even then there was not enough to go around. However, It was not long before one of the children, a runt named Wikly, decided to nibble on one of the thin keese wings, and other children, including Topah, soon followed his example. He found that though he was not consuming anything, the juices helped satiate his appetite.

By the end of a tendo of marching, none of the children had any clue as to where they were. Some time ago, the Blins had marched off the path and into the deep thick of the Lost Woods. Though the thick canopy allowed no light through, the marching line had more than enough torches to keep the darkness and the monsters of the forest away. How did they manage to travel all the way through the woods without getting lost? Topah wondered.

Though morale was at an all time low for the children, that did not stop the Protector from cheering up her brothers and sisters. "See that one?" she whispered to a giggling Curry, "His head looks like a bird took a dung right on top o' his shiny bald spot." The big boy rolled over laughing, while the Bokoblins looked at him confused. The Protector then tapped the shoulder of Berrywinkle, the shorter girl who liked to play in the village playground, "That one looks like a Deku Baba with his thin arms and his big, fat, blue head." Then Berrywinkle started to giggle uncontrollably and passed on that observation to the next brother and sister, who then caught on to the girl's contagious laughter.

Making fun of their captors was how the children spent most of their time. While surviving took priority, keeping up spirits became equally as important. At least to Topah, snickering about the stupidity of the Blins slightly restored his sense of control over his grim reality. Prodding and probing the rank-and-file members with taunts and spit, the Kokiri immediately learned that the none of the Blins were allowed to retaliate. The one Bokoblin who let his speartip get a hair's width too close to the cage bars set an example for anyone who dared retaliate. However, the gruesome beheading left the children crying and silent once more.

Even worse, the creatures of the night made themselves present to hunt some easy, unsuspecting Blins. Every night Topah would hear at least two screams before the sun rose, and then the day after, gossip was filled who died when and where. However, even the reports of desertion amongst the King's ranks did little to draw his attention. He was so focused on reaching the end goal that he had ignored every warning of his advisors. " _March on!_ " the King's retainers translated the King's command to their own retinues.

Much of their time traveling through the woods was done with the chatter of the Bokoblins' native language surrounding the cage. The grunts spoke more sharply and quickly than their enormous Bulblin counterparts did. Though there were many Bokoblins almost as tall as a Bulblin, they did not possess its muscular build, singular, grayish blue skin color across its species, or the thick bones sprouting from the sides of their heads. The difference in anatomy between species was enough to justify one's authority over another.

The highest authorities all had one thing in common, a bullos upon which to flaunt their status. Upright alone, the top of a bullos's head reached shoulder height to a full grown Bulblin, and their massive tusk on each side of its piggish snout was the length of a sword blade. The King, the largest of his tribe, had also fittingly chose the largest Bullbos of its breed to ride around, and wherever he went, his horde of retainers followed him diligently.

Most of the time it was to ride up and down along the marching line to gather reports from his immediate inferiors, but after a fortnight of marching, something was different. When the marching line halted to a dead stop, the King rode ahead to the front of the line and disappeared deep into the path ahead of him. The children huddled close to one another, awaiting their fate. Even the sudden order that cried out routinely every single day just before sunset, " _Make caaamp!_ " could not settle their nerves.

When the King returned, he ordered the enormous Bulblin grunt to pull the cart down the path, which had been cleared for a straight walk through, and then rode at the pace at which his mute, gigantic grunt could pull a cart full of Kokiri, who awaited their fate in total silence. Topah had no idea exactly how long the marching line was, but it must have taken the whole night for the children to cross the whole army camp site. Seeing the sheer number of campfires spread out across the whole forest floor made him wonder just how many Bokoblins were in the army. There could easily have been thousands, if not more. There was no way the Kokiri could have defended against this many.

Once the sun began to peek over the horizon, the morning's first light shined its first rays upon the wooden embattlements encircling an enormous section of the forest. Each wooden stake was uniformly shaped, sized, and sharpened at the tip, and four tall watchtowers, as far as Topah could count from his point of view, were perched above the wall. After turning around a bend in the forest, the children saw the wooden gate toward which the King was leading them.

Though the city walls were designed to keep any Blin from entering, the drawbridge lay open over the moat encircling the battlements, welcoming the King and his captives. On one side of the drawbridge were tents made of animal skins surrounding crudely made fires. On the other side of the drawbridge was a crowd of Deku, dressed in all sorts of colorful, floral dresses, come to have a peek at the newcomers. Inside the walls, the Deku had built wooden homes with well thatched roofs, and they were organized neatly into blocks with aged lumber streets connecting the homes and shops of the unknown city.

Shortly after the Kokiri had passed through the gate, the number of curious bystanders dropped. Once that crowd had thinned down to several young Deku children, their parents came to scoop them up. The rest of the pedestrians that had to make way for the massive cage of prisoners glared at the children with dirty looks in their beady, orange eyes. Though the Deku shared a signature, wooden flesh and a permanent gape for a mouth, their diversity flourished in their variety in clothing, many of which were sewn outside the forest, and the colorful flowers atop their heads. Once the King turned around a corner, a great marketplace square lay in front of them, and beyond that was the great palace that was going to receive them.

But the Kokiri never reached that far. Just as the heavy cage boarded the bridgeway connected to the wooden plaza suspended over a lake, a Deku leader, sitting atop a litter carried by four reptilian savages from the outskirts of the forest and surrounded by a retinue of his own guard of Deku spearmen, approached the King Bulblin and his dozen of generals from the opposite side of the plaza.

The first difference Topah noticed between the Deku and the Blins was the level of weaponry. While the Bulblin King's personal guards equipped themselves with thick tree trunks and sharpened sticks, the Deku leader's spearmen had pikes with metal spear tips and metal shields to protect them. To compensate for their smaller frames, the Deku soldiers wore padded armor and organized in tight ranks and files. Though Topah had never known the Deku for being warrior-like, these guards nevertheless looked like they were serious about hurting people.

Once both parties met at the center, the Deku litter bearers lowered the leader, who turned out to be much shorter than his peers and his bodyguards, so he could welcome the King with open arms. He stepped down from his miniature, mobile fortress wearing a cape lined with furs, whose size was clearly meant for a Hylian. " _Welcome!_ " greeted the short Deku with the natural squeak needed to speak the language fluently.

The Bokoblin elder who acted as a translator for the Kokiri accompanied the Bulblin King and helped interpret the greeting. " _The King would like to see the weapons you promised_ ," responded the elder.

" _Ha!_ " it was hard to tell if the leader was genuinely amused or being sarcastic, " _I like how you skip straight to the heart of the matter!_ " The Deku leader signaled for one of his men to bring forth a wagon, pulled by two Lizalfos and full of steel weapons: maces, flails, spears, and all shapes and sizes of swords. There were so many that when the wagon entered the plaza, the combined weight of the mound of steel caused the entire platform to shake violently non stop. Many standing on foot, including the elder and several Deku guardsmen, were knocked off balance until the wagon came to a complete stop.

The Bulblin King rode around the wagon to inspect the weapons, and when he picked up a greatsword to test its weight and balance, a satisfied and evil grin crept on his lips. He lifted his massive sword into the air with one hand and roared a command to the subordinate pulling the cage, who grunted in response and released the handle to take hold of the wagon full of weapons. The two Lizalfos who pulled the wagon earlier then switched spots with the Bulblin giant and began dragging the children towards the Deku.

However, instead of taking them straight towards the palace, the Deku directed their Lizalfo servants towards the right, " _Take them to the warehouse!_ " As the children passed by the wagon of weapons, Topah overheard the Deku leader complain to the King, " _Wait a moment! Are you trying to cheat me?_ "

The King grunted at the elder's translation and asked the Deku leader, " _The King would like to know if there was a problem_."

" _I thought there was more of them! I was told there would be at least three hundred! There's barely over a hundred of them!_ " protested the leader jumping in fury.

" _The King says they rounded up all the_ eemteebah _that were unable to reach the safety of the great tree._ "

" _It's just a tree! Why weren't your forces able to best a single tree in the forest?_ "

When the elder translated the message, the King roared furiously, " _The King invites you to waste your forces against the great tree in his stead then._ "

The Deku leader scoffed, " _How dare you! We had an agreement! One weapon per_ eemteebah _! I brought three hundred because you promised me three hundred!_ "

This did not make the King any happier. He roared again, but this time, he expressed his rage by swinging his new sword at the spears of the guardsmen, cleaving the tips off with one mighty swing. His aggressive gesture alarmed the rest of the guardsmen, who rallied around the leader to his defense. The King and his mighty Bullos backed off from the armed Deku and retreated into his own, personal detail of mounted guards, and that was the last time Topah ever saw the Bulblin King.

The Lizalfos continued pulling the cage through the narrow wooden streets and followed the city guards. The dozen or so guards accompanying them wore leafy foliage over wooden plates for protection. Their helmets allowed the flower on their heads a space for it to grow. However, even with all that armor on, their short stature and round eyes could not make their captors look intimidating. They marched in twos led by a guard with a thicker helmet, who ultimately led them to a warehouse, a three story log structure built around a massive tree. Upon entering the building, Topah had never seen an interior so big holding so many people held in captivity. Layers upon levels of Bokoblins, Lizalfos, Hylians, and even a Bulblin were either chained to the walls or thrown in wooden cages. The sound of wailing and despair never left Topah's ears. Upon seeing the conditions of his new home, he immediately counted his blessing being stuck in one cage with all his siblings.

Many smaller cages were awaiting the Kokiri, and as they were unloaded, they were counted and separated into groups. Only the Protector was singled out. " _Careful with that one! She slew a Bulblin captain all by herself_ ," cautioned the head of the city guard to the two Deku guards grabbing her by the wrist. That was a poor decision on their part, for neither one of them was ready to deal with her explosive strength. With a well placed foot, the Protector kicked one of the the guards right in his gaping, round snot, and then she used her free hand to throw the other guard and pin him to the ground. With two quick punches from her left hand, the Deku was out.

When the rest of the guards joined to restrain the Protector, they still were no match for her strength, and it took at least ten Deku to hold the girl down. Even then, she did not calm down until a guard dipped a metal dagger into a bowl of a clear liquid and then scratched her ever so lightly with it. "Protector!" cried every child in vain. Shortly after, the Protector stopped resisting, and when she was lifted onto her feet, her half dazed eyes seemed unaware of the two guards escorting her to her own, separate cage where she lay down and slept soundly.

Stored away in a dark corner alongside many other captured Lizalfos, Topah huddled quietly and closely with the twenty six boys in his group as the monstrous captives like the Blins wailed and cried all through the night. One Deku guard stood outside each cage equipped with a staff. Even worse than the sight was the smell. Each cage only had a small opening in the corner for the captives to dispose of any wastes, though what stung his nose so much was not the smell of bodily fluids, but of death. Somewhere in this gigantic room, someone had been dead for quite some time.

Earlier, the Deku and the Blins referred to the children as "eemteebah", and unknown definition of the word drove Topah's curiosity mad, until he finally asked the guard outside his cage, " _Excuse me, what does the word_ 'eemteebah' _mean?_ "

This particular Deku guard had aged quite some time by the look of the splinters on the underside of his mouth. "In your language," with a low pitch, he spoke in accented Hylian, "I believe that word means, 'slave'." Topah had no idea what the word "slave" meant, but he was about to.


End file.
